The Viking's Captive
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Rhovan
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Gunnar, Viking from the North
Gunnar sat in the bow of the Longship. He was dozing as he leaned against the side rail of the ship. He was but one amongst 50 men. A large raiding party, spread across three ships as it approached the shores of the Gaelic people. They were a fierce people in their own right, but they didn't have the stomach for the kind of battles the vikings fought. Early in the day, just as the sun crested the horizon they would flood off of their ships like a swarm and slay all who stood before them.
They burned homes, scattered live stock, and captured or stole anything they could easily enough get back onto the longship. Some women were raped on shore, and their children were unusually strong compaired to the other Gaelic children. It was the blood of a Viking, the true blood of a warrior that struck terror in the hearts of it's enemies to the point where their own lands were hardly ever threatened.
It was a good life being a Viking. Granted, Gunnar wasn't as reveared as some, he wasn't a berserker. He kept his wit about him when he fought, though he was no less savage or dangerous. He braided his beard and hair before his raiding trips, to make himself more savage to the local population. He only once had a man stand before him in all of his righteous fury, and that man was a preacher, under the assumption that his god would protect him.
Might have, but he wasn't praying to Odin.
The boats moved silently as they rowed quickly to shore, all of the men prepping themselves for battle. Checking their armor, or tightening the straps on their shields, some pulling axes or hammers from their backs, a couple men stripping down to bare chests. They were the most dangerous them, for they were the berserkers. They lost all sense in their blood lust, and killed anything that got nearby, even friends and family if one were foolish enough to approach them.
They would go in first, to break the will of the still sleepy town. Not that a Viking child couldn't do it with how ill prepaired these people were.
The sun crested and the men left the boats behind the surge of a powerful war cry. To the Gaelic people, it was little less than the bellow of savages, but to the Vikings, it was a call to their deities, each man screaming to the god they alligned with the most, but far and away most voices were screaming Odin.
Gunnar disended the side of the vessal with a short hop, a scream and a raising of an axe in either fist. His blonde beard hung long on either side of his face, his hair streaming off of his unhelmeted head. He wore protective layers of leather and mail, but the top layer was warm furs, which just proved to make him look more savage and barbaric to these people who wore cotton garments.
Gunnar stamped his boots and grabbed a torch from a man who was quickly lighting them in the villages own central fire. He walked to the nearest house and set the thatch roof on fire before whipping the burning brand end over end into a knot of fleeing men. "Cowards!" He bellowed to drown out most of the local action near him, to have the call picked up by a few other men nearby. But then they broke apart, each to find his share of the bounty as all the men had died or left already. A few screaming children stood lost in the village but were largly ignored, except for when one was caught under the hooves of an enraged horse to die with a short scream.
Then Gunnar saw something he never thought he would see. A woman, in tattered skirts was running into the town. He turned his head slightly, watching her move when he relised she was as of yet unclaimed! He raised his right arm and sent the axe he held whistling through the air, tumbling lazily as it moved towards the woman. Gunnar silently sent a prayer to Odin that the woman would take another step, and she did and the weapon buried itself in the tree she stood right next too. He laughed from where he stood. That axe wasn't exactly ment for throwing, it would almost be better suited for spliting wood, but there it was, quivering and hanging from the side of the tree it was embedded in.
He watched her eyes look to the tree to find out what the whoosh and the crack noises were caused by. Even very far away and through a haze of smoke he could see her eyes widen. She turned to see him, their eyes locking together across the field of slaughter that used to be her village.
She turned and ran away from the axe in the tree. Gunnar bellowed his rage! She had come to the fight, only to run away now? What kind of creatures is this, he thought to himself as he rushed to the tree and jerked his axe free with a stiff tug of his right arm. He raced after the fleeing woman, as she ran alone across the field, heading for the relative safety of the woods. He could see her giving it all she was worth, but she worth skirts and petticoats and the like, which were not ment for ease of anything, least of all ease of running. She also didn't spend nearly the same amount of time at keeping herself in fighting shape as Gunnar did.
As he ran, he placed his axes back in their slings on his back. He wanted her alive, at least for a little while. He was starting to see red, the blood lust rising in his veins. He would catch her, and he would make her see what a real man was like. When she had his child, she would know that he would be of good stock off of him. He loped along behind her, gaining ground but at this rate, she would make the trees before he caught her. Then she looked back and fell in a graceful arc to land in an unceremonious heap in the grass.
Gunnar let out another deeply felt howl, this time of triump as he landed on top of her. His hands hit her square in the shoulders as his legs quickly worked to get on either side of her hips to pin her to the ground. Her legs started to flail and he relised how annoying that would be to have her kicking him the whole time he was having his way with her. So he reached down, grabbed her clothing, stood half upright and flipped her onto her back.
He dropped so his legs were on either side of her body and his hands quickly positioned her hands so they were trapped next to her his by his knees. Not that she was trapped he looked up to find her face hidden by her hair. He wanted to see her face but was momentairly distracted by her sudden fighting of his pin. She wriggled up and down so that her hips were slamming into his groin and he laughed. She was going to be fun, he thought when she suddenly stopped.
Then he saw her trying to blow her hair out of her face so he raised a callioused hand and pushed the hair from her eyes with a finger tip. He looked down into the deepest green eyes he could have ever imagined. He could see her chest rising from the effort of her flight, he could feel his chest heaving too, but much less so than hers.
He liked her eyes he decided and he smiled down at her, the sudden movements causing his beard and mustache to move and reveal the line of his lips. Then she spat in his face. She had nice aim he thought in the back of his mind when it hit him directly in the left eye. With a loud curse he wiped his eyes and his face darkened into a deep frown as he looked at his captive.
Gunnar didn't want to be nice now, and he reached his huged calloused hands towards her upper body. She cringed but then looked surprised when his hands caught hold of her dress instead of her throat. With a movement that seemed to easy, he tore her dress open wide. From the high neck to nearly her waist and the spread of the cloth to form her skirts he had torn it open. It was nearly useless now, as a garment but might serve as a rag.
He moved and his leg was between hers, forcing her thighs apart little by little. Then they were apart and she was thrashing as best she could. Apprently she didn't want a healthy Viking child, but rather a weakling Gaelic one, he thought as he worked against her defenses.
Then someone was calling his name. Not someone, but Bjørn was callng his name. He looked down to the woman under him, and she had stopped fighting as well. As if his passion and her fear were both damped at the same time. He knew she was still afraid, but it was less like a cornered badger and more like a rabbit that was about to be run down. Stark, raving terror that prevented you from doing anything to defend or protect yourself.
Gunnar half forgot where he was, and he didn't let the edges of her dress down as he held them up and to the sides where he had torn it. As if he was keeping the view of her breasts to himself, as you couldn't see them unless you stood over the two. He spoke quietly with Bjørn, almost as if he hadn't just been about to rape a woman after destroying her town.
“Gunnar! Gunnar! Are you dead man?
“Here Bjørn, I’m here and well. I’ve found a woman with a witch’s eyes! He sighed. Now his brother would want his hand at her, and Gunnar never did well with sharing anything, least of all his captured women.
“Well if you’re done fucking her, just kill her so we may be on our way. We’ve willing women and warm beds waiting for us at home!”
“I’ve not had her yet - Besides...she is warm and here, not half a days trip away!“
“Well bring her along if you must… we can always throw her into the sea...”
Gunnar wasn't sure if he liked that idea. If he brought her onto the vessal, he would take her all the way home, make her a slave in his household. He didn't have a woman to call his own yet, so he needed someone around to cook and clean for him. After all, that wasn't a man's work.
He stood and picked up the woman by his grip on her dress that he never released. Then he ducked down and placed his shoulder at the woman's waist and picked her up, over his shoulder. He started to walk back to town, to find something to bind her hands and feet with so she didn't cause problems.
She struggled and he nearly lost her at least twice, but he got her back to the burned out huts and the destroyed town square to find some cloth that he could tear into strips. He dropped her unceremoniously to the ground in front of himself and grabbed her right ankle. He lifted up high and grabbed her flailing left foot, and bound them together at the ankle with the cloth strips. She was upside down and her upper body was covered by her skirts, the only thing protecting her modesty from the rest of the men were her bloomers.
Gunnar could hear everyone laughing and thought it a crazy sight himself. He tied her feet and then let her to the ground again, he stood her upright and grabbed her hands roughly. He pulled them together behind her back and tied them with still more cloth so that she was efficently bound and both harmless and defenseless.
"There Bjørn, she can come back with me. I'll make her cook and clean for me until I find a proper woman, how about that! And she can warm my bed too!" He bragged to his brother as he lifted her in the air and dropped her into the longship. He pulled himself up after her and carried her to his spot on the ship. It was a small clearing in admist the other things the Vikings had captured on their raid. It had a little stool which Gunnar sat on, then he placed her down on her ass in front of the stool. He pulled her arms out behind herself and placed his leg through the loop so she couldn't get up and try to run away. He looked down and noticed the front of her dress was still wide open. He wondered what kind of problems that would cause him, as he had nothing to cover her up with.
Gunnar sat in the bow of the Longship. He was dozing as he leaned against the side rail of the ship. He was but one amongst 50 men. A large raiding party, spread across three ships as it approached the shores of the Gaelic people. They were a fierce people in their own right, but they didn't have the stomach for the kind of battles the vikings fought. Early in the day, just as the sun crested the horizon they would flood off of their ships like a swarm and slay all who stood before them.
They burned homes, scattered live stock, and captured or stole anything they could easily enough get back onto the longship. Some women were raped on shore, and their children were unusually strong compaired to the other Gaelic children. It was the blood of a Viking, the true blood of a warrior that struck terror in the hearts of it's enemies to the point where their own lands were hardly ever threatened.
It was a good life being a Viking. Granted, Gunnar wasn't as reveared as some, he wasn't a berserker. He kept his wit about him when he fought, though he was no less savage or dangerous. He braided his beard and hair before his raiding trips, to make himself more savage to the local population. He only once had a man stand before him in all of his righteous fury, and that man was a preacher, under the assumption that his god would protect him.
Might have, but he wasn't praying to Odin.
The boats moved silently as they rowed quickly to shore, all of the men prepping themselves for battle. Checking their armor, or tightening the straps on their shields, some pulling axes or hammers from their backs, a couple men stripping down to bare chests. They were the most dangerous them, for they were the berserkers. They lost all sense in their blood lust, and killed anything that got nearby, even friends and family if one were foolish enough to approach them.
They would go in first, to break the will of the still sleepy town. Not that a Viking child couldn't do it with how ill prepaired these people were.
The sun crested and the men left the boats behind the surge of a powerful war cry. To the Gaelic people, it was little less than the bellow of savages, but to the Vikings, it was a call to their deities, each man screaming to the god they alligned with the most, but far and away most voices were screaming Odin.
Gunnar disended the side of the vessal with a short hop, a scream and a raising of an axe in either fist. His blonde beard hung long on either side of his face, his hair streaming off of his unhelmeted head. He wore protective layers of leather and mail, but the top layer was warm furs, which just proved to make him look more savage and barbaric to these people who wore cotton garments.
Gunnar stamped his boots and grabbed a torch from a man who was quickly lighting them in the villages own central fire. He walked to the nearest house and set the thatch roof on fire before whipping the burning brand end over end into a knot of fleeing men. "Cowards!" He bellowed to drown out most of the local action near him, to have the call picked up by a few other men nearby. But then they broke apart, each to find his share of the bounty as all the men had died or left already. A few screaming children stood lost in the village but were largly ignored, except for when one was caught under the hooves of an enraged horse to die with a short scream.
Then Gunnar saw something he never thought he would see. A woman, in tattered skirts was running into the town. He turned his head slightly, watching her move when he relised she was as of yet unclaimed! He raised his right arm and sent the axe he held whistling through the air, tumbling lazily as it moved towards the woman. Gunnar silently sent a prayer to Odin that the woman would take another step, and she did and the weapon buried itself in the tree she stood right next too. He laughed from where he stood. That axe wasn't exactly ment for throwing, it would almost be better suited for spliting wood, but there it was, quivering and hanging from the side of the tree it was embedded in.
He watched her eyes look to the tree to find out what the whoosh and the crack noises were caused by. Even very far away and through a haze of smoke he could see her eyes widen. She turned to see him, their eyes locking together across the field of slaughter that used to be her village.
She turned and ran away from the axe in the tree. Gunnar bellowed his rage! She had come to the fight, only to run away now? What kind of creatures is this, he thought to himself as he rushed to the tree and jerked his axe free with a stiff tug of his right arm. He raced after the fleeing woman, as she ran alone across the field, heading for the relative safety of the woods. He could see her giving it all she was worth, but she worth skirts and petticoats and the like, which were not ment for ease of anything, least of all ease of running. She also didn't spend nearly the same amount of time at keeping herself in fighting shape as Gunnar did.
As he ran, he placed his axes back in their slings on his back. He wanted her alive, at least for a little while. He was starting to see red, the blood lust rising in his veins. He would catch her, and he would make her see what a real man was like. When she had his child, she would know that he would be of good stock off of him. He loped along behind her, gaining ground but at this rate, she would make the trees before he caught her. Then she looked back and fell in a graceful arc to land in an unceremonious heap in the grass.
Gunnar let out another deeply felt howl, this time of triump as he landed on top of her. His hands hit her square in the shoulders as his legs quickly worked to get on either side of her hips to pin her to the ground. Her legs started to flail and he relised how annoying that would be to have her kicking him the whole time he was having his way with her. So he reached down, grabbed her clothing, stood half upright and flipped her onto her back.
He dropped so his legs were on either side of her body and his hands quickly positioned her hands so they were trapped next to her his by his knees. Not that she was trapped he looked up to find her face hidden by her hair. He wanted to see her face but was momentairly distracted by her sudden fighting of his pin. She wriggled up and down so that her hips were slamming into his groin and he laughed. She was going to be fun, he thought when she suddenly stopped.
Then he saw her trying to blow her hair out of her face so he raised a callioused hand and pushed the hair from her eyes with a finger tip. He looked down into the deepest green eyes he could have ever imagined. He could see her chest rising from the effort of her flight, he could feel his chest heaving too, but much less so than hers.
He liked her eyes he decided and he smiled down at her, the sudden movements causing his beard and mustache to move and reveal the line of his lips. Then she spat in his face. She had nice aim he thought in the back of his mind when it hit him directly in the left eye. With a loud curse he wiped his eyes and his face darkened into a deep frown as he looked at his captive.
Gunnar didn't want to be nice now, and he reached his huged calloused hands towards her upper body. She cringed but then looked surprised when his hands caught hold of her dress instead of her throat. With a movement that seemed to easy, he tore her dress open wide. From the high neck to nearly her waist and the spread of the cloth to form her skirts he had torn it open. It was nearly useless now, as a garment but might serve as a rag.
He moved and his leg was between hers, forcing her thighs apart little by little. Then they were apart and she was thrashing as best she could. Apprently she didn't want a healthy Viking child, but rather a weakling Gaelic one, he thought as he worked against her defenses.
Then someone was calling his name. Not someone, but Bjørn was callng his name. He looked down to the woman under him, and she had stopped fighting as well. As if his passion and her fear were both damped at the same time. He knew she was still afraid, but it was less like a cornered badger and more like a rabbit that was about to be run down. Stark, raving terror that prevented you from doing anything to defend or protect yourself.
Gunnar half forgot where he was, and he didn't let the edges of her dress down as he held them up and to the sides where he had torn it. As if he was keeping the view of her breasts to himself, as you couldn't see them unless you stood over the two. He spoke quietly with Bjørn, almost as if he hadn't just been about to rape a woman after destroying her town.
“Gunnar! Gunnar! Are you dead man?
“Here Bjørn, I’m here and well. I’ve found a woman with a witch’s eyes! He sighed. Now his brother would want his hand at her, and Gunnar never did well with sharing anything, least of all his captured women.
“Well if you’re done fucking her, just kill her so we may be on our way. We’ve willing women and warm beds waiting for us at home!”
“I’ve not had her yet - Besides...she is warm and here, not half a days trip away!“
“Well bring her along if you must… we can always throw her into the sea...”
Gunnar wasn't sure if he liked that idea. If he brought her onto the vessal, he would take her all the way home, make her a slave in his household. He didn't have a woman to call his own yet, so he needed someone around to cook and clean for him. After all, that wasn't a man's work.
He stood and picked up the woman by his grip on her dress that he never released. Then he ducked down and placed his shoulder at the woman's waist and picked her up, over his shoulder. He started to walk back to town, to find something to bind her hands and feet with so she didn't cause problems.
She struggled and he nearly lost her at least twice, but he got her back to the burned out huts and the destroyed town square to find some cloth that he could tear into strips. He dropped her unceremoniously to the ground in front of himself and grabbed her right ankle. He lifted up high and grabbed her flailing left foot, and bound them together at the ankle with the cloth strips. She was upside down and her upper body was covered by her skirts, the only thing protecting her modesty from the rest of the men were her bloomers.
Gunnar could hear everyone laughing and thought it a crazy sight himself. He tied her feet and then let her to the ground again, he stood her upright and grabbed her hands roughly. He pulled them together behind her back and tied them with still more cloth so that she was efficently bound and both harmless and defenseless.
"There Bjørn, she can come back with me. I'll make her cook and clean for me until I find a proper woman, how about that! And she can warm my bed too!" He bragged to his brother as he lifted her in the air and dropped her into the longship. He pulled himself up after her and carried her to his spot on the ship. It was a small clearing in admist the other things the Vikings had captured on their raid. It had a little stool which Gunnar sat on, then he placed her down on her ass in front of the stool. He pulled her arms out behind herself and placed his leg through the loop so she couldn't get up and try to run away. He looked down and noticed the front of her dress was still wide open. He wondered what kind of problems that would cause him, as he had nothing to cover her up with.
Last edited:
Rhovan
Weevil Genius
- Joined
- Apr 18, 2003
- Posts
- 1,411
Gunnar, Viking of the North
Gunnar was once again dozing on the rail of the boat. It was much the same as every day of raiding. Sometimes he would return with a candleabra, or maybe a brace of connies. Once he drove a small herd of sheep aboard, much to the chigrin of the other vikings, but nobody minded. The whole village lived off of mutton for a month. Less than two hours ago, Gunnar was dozing in the exact same spot and nearly the exact same position. Only this time, he had a captive at his feet.
She really had striking eyes, but Gunnar couldn't tell much of how she looked due to the ridiculous amount of clothing she wore, the dirt that caked her body and the soot that was added to all of that. He felt her stiffen of a sudden and she was leaning against his leg. He didn't mind, she was his property, and he did have his leg hooked through her arms.
He looked down at the woman again, wondering exactly why he took her with them instead of filling her with his seed and leaving her behind. "Eyes," he said softly, knowing she would have no idea what he said. "Must be the eyes," he mused to himself, aware of the confusion it would cause the woman but not really caring. He was tired. He had a long morning of pillaging and he really wanted to bath and sleep. Somewhere in there he would take her...maybe a couple of times, but sleep would be the ultimate goal of his day now that his work was done.
Gunnar was un-aware of the usefulness the woman might prove to have. She was little more than a beast of burden to Gunnar. Her burden wouldn't be the plow in anything but a metaphorical sense. She would cook, she would clean, she would warm his bed. If she was good at her appointed tasks and didn't try to escape too often, she would even have a nice life. Until Gunnar took a wife, then she would be sold to the market for anyone to buy her. Gunnar shrugged. It was the way of things.
Gunnar rested his head on the rail again and shifted his feet about. His moved his right foot, which her arms were looped around and found his foot under her butt. He smiled to himself.
It was an accident, but when she scooted forward he frowned. He pushed his foot forward again, but at the same time he reached down and pulled her backwards, up onto his foot. Who was she to denigh his contact with her body!
"Gunnar!"
Gunnar lifted his head from the rail again, and lifted his foot that was under the woman's butt a little bit, then set it back down again.
"What?" he growled back across the deck of the ship. Most of the men that wern't sleeping were bartering their pillaged goods back and forth to one another.
"Come here, I wish to offer you a trade for your woman."
"No," Gunnar said and wiggled his foot again. He enjoyed the reaction she made, he could feel the indignity she was pouring out of her eyes and she wasn't even looking at him.
"Damnit Gunnar, come look and see what I offer before you tell me no."
"Fine...I will be right there Karl," Gunnar said. He pulled his foot back and lifted it from her arms. He stepped over the woman, and started to walk across the deck of the ship. Where could she go? Besides, he could see the whole deck. She might not be able to see him from where she sat, but he could see her.
He abled up to Karl and started to barter. Karl had a surprising amount of goods from the village. He had a cart ladened with food stuffs, and he even had a six foot long claymoore that was captured in the village long before it could ever be put to use against the raiders. Gunnar wasn't going to trade, but he did enjoy all the haggling that went along with it, to see if maybe he could get Karl to offer him everything he had on the vessal. Thus was Gunnar indisposed when Ragnar moved to the captive woman with the bared breasts.
Ragnar stood from his position near the railing. He had only a goose with which to lay claim to. It was almost a humiliating failure for Ragnar. The only other person on the vessal that claimed only one item was Gunnar. But she was a beautiful green eyes woman. Granted, she was infested with lice and fleas and she stank like a pig stye but those things could be fixed. Ragnar stood and walked nearer to the bound woman. He stepped right to the rail and fished his cock from his furs, leathers and mail. He let out a small groan of releaf as he eased the pressures in his bladder into the sea. When he finished, he tucked himself away back into his gear and turned towards the woman. Gunnar was busy with Karl at the other end of the vessal and nobody else was paying much attention to Ragnar at all.
Ragnar moved to the woman and stopped in front of her. He was surpised she had green eyes. He was surprised she looked him in the eye, most men wouldn't look a Viking in the eye, let alone a trussed up, female slave. That made Ragnar mad. She didn't look Gunnar in the eye.
"Don't look me in the eye woman...your a slave...your not good enough to look me in the eye..." He spoke to bolster his own ego. He had recently fallen on hard times in the raiding, being unable to capture anything of worth. Now this woman had the nerve to taunt him with her evil green stare? Ragnar thought not!
He reached out and grabbed the torn cloth of the woman's shirt. He pulled the shirt open, letting the woman's breasts fall free and into the open. He talked over his shoulder to the nearest men, but not loud enough for Gunnar to hear. "Think we should open this woman up for Gunnar boys? Let him know if she is worth keeping?"
"Yeah...take the woman, make her scream for the other boats to hear" Erik tossed from his spot where he rested. A few others offered less intelligable responses to Ragnar. He would do just that. He would have Gunnar's woman before Gunnar had her. Ragnar leaned in, to grasp the woman's breast in his hands when he finally smelled her.
It was awful. Years worth of sweat and grime coated her body. "She must never bathe," he thought to himself. Her clothes had a measure of cleanlyness to them, but she herself stank of stale sweat, and a myriad of other things she had come into contact with but never cleansed from her body. "I'll just throw her over board, give this wench a bath," Ragnar thought to himself as he reached down and grabbed the woman's waist. He lifted her to his shoulder with little effort. Ragnar might be a small and ineffective Viking raider, but he was still a large and powerful man compaired to the men of the Gaelic lands. With two quick motions, he lifted the woman up over his head and then threw her out over the railing and into the choppy waters of the sea.
Karl saw at the last moment, the woman leaving the deck of the ship and disappearing from sight. "Gunnar! Your woman is overboard!" He spoke tensely. He thought he had Gunnar on the edge of a deal and if she died, he wouldn't be able to have her. He looked back to where Gunnar was suppose to be, but he was gone, crossing the ship in great strides.
Gunner stopped at the edge of the deck and saw the shape of the woman slowly drifting below the choppy waters. She probably couldn't swim in general, let alone in the dangerous waters of the deep sea with her hands and feet bound. Gunnar shrugged out of his armor, stripping himself to the waist and grabbed a length of rope.
He handed the other end of the rope to one of the men, who got a few more to help anchor it and then he launched himself out into the air, rope in his right hand. He sailed for a moment, his beard and long hair flying behind himself, his bare but still hairy chest catching the sea spray and then he was knifing through the water, shooting down deep in a dive.
As he slowed his downward movement in the water, he righted himself and looked up into the billowing and restrictive skirts around the woman. His woman. He kicked his legs hard and shot up through the water. He caught the slightly struggling ball of clothing and started for the surface with it. He broke the surface of the water, but he didn't know if she was able to breath or not. All he could really see was skirts and bits of dress all around her.
With a mighty tug on the rope the men started to pull, dragging him to the deck of the ship. He held onto her with his one arm, his body screaming in protest to the strain of holding both of their weights on one arm, and her weight on the other arm. But quickly they made it to the deck of the ship.
Gunnar grabbed a knife from the nearest man and started to slash his way through the cloth of her skirts in a controlled fashion. He threw bits and peices this way and that, trying to find her head and see if she was still alive. From the time she was picked up to the time she removed the last of her dress from her bound body was a little more than a minute.
Gunnar looked to her, hoping she would show some signs of life and he patted her cheek with one hand gently, and her bare stomach with his other hand.
Ragnar however stood by. He had angered Gunnar and he knew they would fight. But he had to wait until Gunnar challenged him. It was Gunnar's right. All the men on the vessal were awake now, ready for the sudden fight. Bets being placed all over the place, their voices rising in a general den over the boat. In fact, the only people not talking were Ragnar, Gunnar and the woman.
Ragnar, with a furious look on his face.
The woman with a blank look and closed eyes.
And Gunnar, who looked very concerned.
Gunnar was once again dozing on the rail of the boat. It was much the same as every day of raiding. Sometimes he would return with a candleabra, or maybe a brace of connies. Once he drove a small herd of sheep aboard, much to the chigrin of the other vikings, but nobody minded. The whole village lived off of mutton for a month. Less than two hours ago, Gunnar was dozing in the exact same spot and nearly the exact same position. Only this time, he had a captive at his feet.
She really had striking eyes, but Gunnar couldn't tell much of how she looked due to the ridiculous amount of clothing she wore, the dirt that caked her body and the soot that was added to all of that. He felt her stiffen of a sudden and she was leaning against his leg. He didn't mind, she was his property, and he did have his leg hooked through her arms.
He looked down at the woman again, wondering exactly why he took her with them instead of filling her with his seed and leaving her behind. "Eyes," he said softly, knowing she would have no idea what he said. "Must be the eyes," he mused to himself, aware of the confusion it would cause the woman but not really caring. He was tired. He had a long morning of pillaging and he really wanted to bath and sleep. Somewhere in there he would take her...maybe a couple of times, but sleep would be the ultimate goal of his day now that his work was done.
Gunnar was un-aware of the usefulness the woman might prove to have. She was little more than a beast of burden to Gunnar. Her burden wouldn't be the plow in anything but a metaphorical sense. She would cook, she would clean, she would warm his bed. If she was good at her appointed tasks and didn't try to escape too often, she would even have a nice life. Until Gunnar took a wife, then she would be sold to the market for anyone to buy her. Gunnar shrugged. It was the way of things.
Gunnar rested his head on the rail again and shifted his feet about. His moved his right foot, which her arms were looped around and found his foot under her butt. He smiled to himself.
It was an accident, but when she scooted forward he frowned. He pushed his foot forward again, but at the same time he reached down and pulled her backwards, up onto his foot. Who was she to denigh his contact with her body!
"Gunnar!"
Gunnar lifted his head from the rail again, and lifted his foot that was under the woman's butt a little bit, then set it back down again.
"What?" he growled back across the deck of the ship. Most of the men that wern't sleeping were bartering their pillaged goods back and forth to one another.
"Come here, I wish to offer you a trade for your woman."
"No," Gunnar said and wiggled his foot again. He enjoyed the reaction she made, he could feel the indignity she was pouring out of her eyes and she wasn't even looking at him.
"Damnit Gunnar, come look and see what I offer before you tell me no."
"Fine...I will be right there Karl," Gunnar said. He pulled his foot back and lifted it from her arms. He stepped over the woman, and started to walk across the deck of the ship. Where could she go? Besides, he could see the whole deck. She might not be able to see him from where she sat, but he could see her.
He abled up to Karl and started to barter. Karl had a surprising amount of goods from the village. He had a cart ladened with food stuffs, and he even had a six foot long claymoore that was captured in the village long before it could ever be put to use against the raiders. Gunnar wasn't going to trade, but he did enjoy all the haggling that went along with it, to see if maybe he could get Karl to offer him everything he had on the vessal. Thus was Gunnar indisposed when Ragnar moved to the captive woman with the bared breasts.
Ragnar stood from his position near the railing. He had only a goose with which to lay claim to. It was almost a humiliating failure for Ragnar. The only other person on the vessal that claimed only one item was Gunnar. But she was a beautiful green eyes woman. Granted, she was infested with lice and fleas and she stank like a pig stye but those things could be fixed. Ragnar stood and walked nearer to the bound woman. He stepped right to the rail and fished his cock from his furs, leathers and mail. He let out a small groan of releaf as he eased the pressures in his bladder into the sea. When he finished, he tucked himself away back into his gear and turned towards the woman. Gunnar was busy with Karl at the other end of the vessal and nobody else was paying much attention to Ragnar at all.
Ragnar moved to the woman and stopped in front of her. He was surpised she had green eyes. He was surprised she looked him in the eye, most men wouldn't look a Viking in the eye, let alone a trussed up, female slave. That made Ragnar mad. She didn't look Gunnar in the eye.
"Don't look me in the eye woman...your a slave...your not good enough to look me in the eye..." He spoke to bolster his own ego. He had recently fallen on hard times in the raiding, being unable to capture anything of worth. Now this woman had the nerve to taunt him with her evil green stare? Ragnar thought not!
He reached out and grabbed the torn cloth of the woman's shirt. He pulled the shirt open, letting the woman's breasts fall free and into the open. He talked over his shoulder to the nearest men, but not loud enough for Gunnar to hear. "Think we should open this woman up for Gunnar boys? Let him know if she is worth keeping?"
"Yeah...take the woman, make her scream for the other boats to hear" Erik tossed from his spot where he rested. A few others offered less intelligable responses to Ragnar. He would do just that. He would have Gunnar's woman before Gunnar had her. Ragnar leaned in, to grasp the woman's breast in his hands when he finally smelled her.
It was awful. Years worth of sweat and grime coated her body. "She must never bathe," he thought to himself. Her clothes had a measure of cleanlyness to them, but she herself stank of stale sweat, and a myriad of other things she had come into contact with but never cleansed from her body. "I'll just throw her over board, give this wench a bath," Ragnar thought to himself as he reached down and grabbed the woman's waist. He lifted her to his shoulder with little effort. Ragnar might be a small and ineffective Viking raider, but he was still a large and powerful man compaired to the men of the Gaelic lands. With two quick motions, he lifted the woman up over his head and then threw her out over the railing and into the choppy waters of the sea.
Karl saw at the last moment, the woman leaving the deck of the ship and disappearing from sight. "Gunnar! Your woman is overboard!" He spoke tensely. He thought he had Gunnar on the edge of a deal and if she died, he wouldn't be able to have her. He looked back to where Gunnar was suppose to be, but he was gone, crossing the ship in great strides.
Gunner stopped at the edge of the deck and saw the shape of the woman slowly drifting below the choppy waters. She probably couldn't swim in general, let alone in the dangerous waters of the deep sea with her hands and feet bound. Gunnar shrugged out of his armor, stripping himself to the waist and grabbed a length of rope.
He handed the other end of the rope to one of the men, who got a few more to help anchor it and then he launched himself out into the air, rope in his right hand. He sailed for a moment, his beard and long hair flying behind himself, his bare but still hairy chest catching the sea spray and then he was knifing through the water, shooting down deep in a dive.
As he slowed his downward movement in the water, he righted himself and looked up into the billowing and restrictive skirts around the woman. His woman. He kicked his legs hard and shot up through the water. He caught the slightly struggling ball of clothing and started for the surface with it. He broke the surface of the water, but he didn't know if she was able to breath or not. All he could really see was skirts and bits of dress all around her.
With a mighty tug on the rope the men started to pull, dragging him to the deck of the ship. He held onto her with his one arm, his body screaming in protest to the strain of holding both of their weights on one arm, and her weight on the other arm. But quickly they made it to the deck of the ship.
Gunnar grabbed a knife from the nearest man and started to slash his way through the cloth of her skirts in a controlled fashion. He threw bits and peices this way and that, trying to find her head and see if she was still alive. From the time she was picked up to the time she removed the last of her dress from her bound body was a little more than a minute.
Gunnar looked to her, hoping she would show some signs of life and he patted her cheek with one hand gently, and her bare stomach with his other hand.
Ragnar however stood by. He had angered Gunnar and he knew they would fight. But he had to wait until Gunnar challenged him. It was Gunnar's right. All the men on the vessal were awake now, ready for the sudden fight. Bets being placed all over the place, their voices rising in a general den over the boat. In fact, the only people not talking were Ragnar, Gunnar and the woman.
Ragnar, with a furious look on his face.
The woman with a blank look and closed eyes.
And Gunnar, who looked very concerned.
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Rhovan
Weevil Genius
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Gunnar, Viking from the North
The 25 or so men were standing in a tight ring around the woman that lay naked on the deck beneath the hands of Gunnar. In fact, Gunnar and Ragnar were the only ones not in the circle of men that were shoulder to shoulder. Ragnar stood behind the men, and Gunnar nelt in the middle of the men. He had a look of consternation on his face, afraid that his woman would already die, without his having even gotten to take his right of conquest from.
Some of the men were betting on if she would die or not, and the general consensus was she would. She was a weak Gaelic woman, the cold waters of the North would end her life for sure. In fact, there was a large amount of money on her death, with Karl the only one going the other way. Outside of the hushed sounds of betting, the boat was nearly silent. The wind whipped the sails and the ropes creaked but the men were quickly falling silent.
Gunnar thought she looked awful. She was more pale than any person he had ever seen, well aside from her fore arms and her neck. Her lips were blue, and the tips of her fingers and toes were as well. Her hair was in a wide semi-circle out under her body, laying in wet, limp, strands all over the deck of the ship.
The men were all looking at her limp body with looks of lust. And Gunnar knew with her looks, even if she died he could trade her to at least a small handful of men that wouldn't mind if she didn't move. Her eyes were closed, but her features were angelic.
Gunnar patted her cheek gently, and her stomach a little more. He thought he saw her eyes flutter. Then she coughed and spit up a large amount of water that didn't have the force needed to clear her face. Gunnar moved his hand and wiped the water from her face, taking the spit away from her mouth and nose as she didn't need anymore seawater in her body.
Gunnar saw her eyes open, and they locked with hers. Green held blue, but Gunnar was still worried, as she was rapidly turning blue in the cold air and water. He smiled, as she was awake. She blinked as she looked up into his face. He smiled wider, she would live for the moment. Then she started to scramble away from him, and he was worried that maybe he shouldn't of cut her bonds when he rescued her. She scrambled right into one of the men's legs.
Then she did something very curious indeed. She scrambled back to him. He watched her with a slightly confused look. She placed herself right between his splayed knees and shoved her face against his bare chest. He could feel how cold she was, as she pressed against his chest, her arms wrapped around herself as if to defend herself from him. He looked down, surprised that she would willingly get so close to him, and with her not being bound.
He lifted his gaze from her as he noticed the hush. One person offered a bet on who would win the fight, Ragnar or Gunnar. Suddenly Gunnar knew what happened. Or knew enough that he relised who was at fault. He gazed at the man, Ragnar.
It was an odd sight indeed. Gunnar sat, crouched on the deck of the vessal with his hands on his splayed knees. His feet the only part of him touching the wooden deck. His slave/captive sat between his legs, turned in towards him with her face to his chest, as if she were trying to take any warmth he had to offer.
As what happened dawned on Gunnar, he stopped looking confused and started to look righteously angry. Someone had messed with his property. No, not messed with but attempted to destroy his property. That was not to be had.
Gunnar stood and looked to Karl who stood beside him. His voice was thick with anger and his previously chilled body started to radiate the heat of rage. "Karl...get a fur, warm her and keep her out of the way. Keep her safe Karl," he tone left no room for argument as Gunnar turned to face Ragnar full on. He watched Karl drop a huge pelt across the woman and then pulled her from the center. He wrapped it once around her, fur side in to keep her warm and to prevent her to attempt an escape at the same time.
Gunnar moved so that he was the offical challenger, his hands akimbo on his hips. He shook his head to shake the extra water from his hair and beard as he watched Ragnar warily. "Ragnar...I wish to challenge you! You tried to destroy that which was rightfully mine. Step forward and face the challenge like a man, or jump overboard like the woman we all know you are!"
He watched Ragnar step forward as he knew he would. Even the smallest Viking male wouldn't turn down a direct and public challenge. They squared off in the center of the ring of men, Gunnar was bare chested and wet, Ragnar was fully armored and dry. Oddly enough, Ragnar still seemed nervous.
"Do you accept the challenge?" Gunnar asked in a quiet voice that promised violence.
"Of course," Ragnar responded and they post raised their clasped fists in front of themselves. Gunnar spread his feet in front and behind himself, while Ragnar spread his feet wide to either side of himself. They circled one another several times and then Ragnar moved in, to try and grab Gunnar about the waist.
Gunnar dropped his large fist down onto Ragnar's back, high up on his body. Ragnar grunted, and the sound of the impact was loud in the silence of the group. Ragnar straightened and threw a punch at Gunnar, who dodged out of the way and struck Ragnar in the ribs. They circled some more, each time Ragnar moved in, Gunnar deflected the hit and struck Ragnar back.
Then Ragnar did something unexpected, he stepped in and swung for Gunnar's side, but at the last second he switched his swing to his left arm and caught Gunnar straight in the face. Gunnar's head moved back a little but the fierceness in his eyes never left. He growled loudly, and he swung his own fist back, striking Ragnar's jaw, then his chest, this his stomach in rapid succesion. Ragnar lost his feet and landed hard on his ass, and Gunnar threw up his hands to the cheer of the other vikings.
He turned to revel in their applause and for a moment, the woman could see the already forming bruise on his jaw from the one solid blow Ragnar landed.
Then a voice could be heard; shouting out over the other voices.
"Gunnar! To the death you bastard!" Ragnar stood from where he fell. His face burned with the humiliation he had just received. After all of his bad luck in the last month, this was the final straw for him. He drew his dagger from his belt and slashed at Gunnar's back. Gunnar was caught in his half turn, and the blade left a deep track in his back, towards his flank.
He roared, Ragnar had attacked an unarmed man from behind, and even if he won, he would only loose honor from this encounter. He apprently wished for death, Gunnar thought as he looked at Ragnar, his black bleeding deep red, and openly.
"You coward!" Gunnar shouted, as Ragnar brought his weapon in again. Gunnar managed to deflect it with his forearm, opening another large gash in his flesh. But at that moment, the battle was decided. As the blade skipped along Gunnar's forearm, his hands locked onto Ragnar's throat. His thumbs dug hard into his throat and with a mighty wrench Ragnar's head turned further than halfway. Further than a normal head would turn. He shoved the suddenly dead man backward as the crowd of vikings parted to watch it hit the railing and fall over into the sea.
Gunnar raised his arms into the air and shouted a cheer as the men watched. He was victorious! And while he didn't want to kill Ragnar, he did as honor demanded. He protected himself and his, and he was morally justified.
He turned towards Karl and the woman, moving slowly due to the two bloody wounds on his body. He grabbed his shirt where he tossed it down previously and tore it into strips, using it to bandage up the wounds on himself. They wern't mortal unless they grew infected. But they were wide and vicious looking. Gunnar slumped wearily on his stool, his chest wrapped in bandages as he shivered on his stool. He wouldn't be comfortable, but he would leave. He waved to Karl who brought the woman over and sat her at Gunnar's feet. Karl moved off, as Gunnar had a fowl look on his face.
Gunnar looked down at the woman, and he grimaced in pain. He leaned over and rested his head on the railing, gently setting his left hand on her shoulder so she wouldn't run away. He closed his eyes. Then he opened them again. He couldn't sleep while he was hurt, he would just bleed all the more when he shifted unconciously.
The 25 or so men were standing in a tight ring around the woman that lay naked on the deck beneath the hands of Gunnar. In fact, Gunnar and Ragnar were the only ones not in the circle of men that were shoulder to shoulder. Ragnar stood behind the men, and Gunnar nelt in the middle of the men. He had a look of consternation on his face, afraid that his woman would already die, without his having even gotten to take his right of conquest from.
Some of the men were betting on if she would die or not, and the general consensus was she would. She was a weak Gaelic woman, the cold waters of the North would end her life for sure. In fact, there was a large amount of money on her death, with Karl the only one going the other way. Outside of the hushed sounds of betting, the boat was nearly silent. The wind whipped the sails and the ropes creaked but the men were quickly falling silent.
Gunnar thought she looked awful. She was more pale than any person he had ever seen, well aside from her fore arms and her neck. Her lips were blue, and the tips of her fingers and toes were as well. Her hair was in a wide semi-circle out under her body, laying in wet, limp, strands all over the deck of the ship.
The men were all looking at her limp body with looks of lust. And Gunnar knew with her looks, even if she died he could trade her to at least a small handful of men that wouldn't mind if she didn't move. Her eyes were closed, but her features were angelic.
Gunnar patted her cheek gently, and her stomach a little more. He thought he saw her eyes flutter. Then she coughed and spit up a large amount of water that didn't have the force needed to clear her face. Gunnar moved his hand and wiped the water from her face, taking the spit away from her mouth and nose as she didn't need anymore seawater in her body.
Gunnar saw her eyes open, and they locked with hers. Green held blue, but Gunnar was still worried, as she was rapidly turning blue in the cold air and water. He smiled, as she was awake. She blinked as she looked up into his face. He smiled wider, she would live for the moment. Then she started to scramble away from him, and he was worried that maybe he shouldn't of cut her bonds when he rescued her. She scrambled right into one of the men's legs.
Then she did something very curious indeed. She scrambled back to him. He watched her with a slightly confused look. She placed herself right between his splayed knees and shoved her face against his bare chest. He could feel how cold she was, as she pressed against his chest, her arms wrapped around herself as if to defend herself from him. He looked down, surprised that she would willingly get so close to him, and with her not being bound.
He lifted his gaze from her as he noticed the hush. One person offered a bet on who would win the fight, Ragnar or Gunnar. Suddenly Gunnar knew what happened. Or knew enough that he relised who was at fault. He gazed at the man, Ragnar.
It was an odd sight indeed. Gunnar sat, crouched on the deck of the vessal with his hands on his splayed knees. His feet the only part of him touching the wooden deck. His slave/captive sat between his legs, turned in towards him with her face to his chest, as if she were trying to take any warmth he had to offer.
As what happened dawned on Gunnar, he stopped looking confused and started to look righteously angry. Someone had messed with his property. No, not messed with but attempted to destroy his property. That was not to be had.
Gunnar stood and looked to Karl who stood beside him. His voice was thick with anger and his previously chilled body started to radiate the heat of rage. "Karl...get a fur, warm her and keep her out of the way. Keep her safe Karl," he tone left no room for argument as Gunnar turned to face Ragnar full on. He watched Karl drop a huge pelt across the woman and then pulled her from the center. He wrapped it once around her, fur side in to keep her warm and to prevent her to attempt an escape at the same time.
Gunnar moved so that he was the offical challenger, his hands akimbo on his hips. He shook his head to shake the extra water from his hair and beard as he watched Ragnar warily. "Ragnar...I wish to challenge you! You tried to destroy that which was rightfully mine. Step forward and face the challenge like a man, or jump overboard like the woman we all know you are!"
He watched Ragnar step forward as he knew he would. Even the smallest Viking male wouldn't turn down a direct and public challenge. They squared off in the center of the ring of men, Gunnar was bare chested and wet, Ragnar was fully armored and dry. Oddly enough, Ragnar still seemed nervous.
"Do you accept the challenge?" Gunnar asked in a quiet voice that promised violence.
"Of course," Ragnar responded and they post raised their clasped fists in front of themselves. Gunnar spread his feet in front and behind himself, while Ragnar spread his feet wide to either side of himself. They circled one another several times and then Ragnar moved in, to try and grab Gunnar about the waist.
Gunnar dropped his large fist down onto Ragnar's back, high up on his body. Ragnar grunted, and the sound of the impact was loud in the silence of the group. Ragnar straightened and threw a punch at Gunnar, who dodged out of the way and struck Ragnar in the ribs. They circled some more, each time Ragnar moved in, Gunnar deflected the hit and struck Ragnar back.
Then Ragnar did something unexpected, he stepped in and swung for Gunnar's side, but at the last second he switched his swing to his left arm and caught Gunnar straight in the face. Gunnar's head moved back a little but the fierceness in his eyes never left. He growled loudly, and he swung his own fist back, striking Ragnar's jaw, then his chest, this his stomach in rapid succesion. Ragnar lost his feet and landed hard on his ass, and Gunnar threw up his hands to the cheer of the other vikings.
He turned to revel in their applause and for a moment, the woman could see the already forming bruise on his jaw from the one solid blow Ragnar landed.
Then a voice could be heard; shouting out over the other voices.
"Gunnar! To the death you bastard!" Ragnar stood from where he fell. His face burned with the humiliation he had just received. After all of his bad luck in the last month, this was the final straw for him. He drew his dagger from his belt and slashed at Gunnar's back. Gunnar was caught in his half turn, and the blade left a deep track in his back, towards his flank.
He roared, Ragnar had attacked an unarmed man from behind, and even if he won, he would only loose honor from this encounter. He apprently wished for death, Gunnar thought as he looked at Ragnar, his black bleeding deep red, and openly.
"You coward!" Gunnar shouted, as Ragnar brought his weapon in again. Gunnar managed to deflect it with his forearm, opening another large gash in his flesh. But at that moment, the battle was decided. As the blade skipped along Gunnar's forearm, his hands locked onto Ragnar's throat. His thumbs dug hard into his throat and with a mighty wrench Ragnar's head turned further than halfway. Further than a normal head would turn. He shoved the suddenly dead man backward as the crowd of vikings parted to watch it hit the railing and fall over into the sea.
Gunnar raised his arms into the air and shouted a cheer as the men watched. He was victorious! And while he didn't want to kill Ragnar, he did as honor demanded. He protected himself and his, and he was morally justified.
He turned towards Karl and the woman, moving slowly due to the two bloody wounds on his body. He grabbed his shirt where he tossed it down previously and tore it into strips, using it to bandage up the wounds on himself. They wern't mortal unless they grew infected. But they were wide and vicious looking. Gunnar slumped wearily on his stool, his chest wrapped in bandages as he shivered on his stool. He wouldn't be comfortable, but he would leave. He waved to Karl who brought the woman over and sat her at Gunnar's feet. Karl moved off, as Gunnar had a fowl look on his face.
Gunnar looked down at the woman, and he grimaced in pain. He leaned over and rested his head on the railing, gently setting his left hand on her shoulder so she wouldn't run away. He closed his eyes. Then he opened them again. He couldn't sleep while he was hurt, he would just bleed all the more when he shifted unconciously.
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Rhovan
Weevil Genius
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- Apr 18, 2003
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Gunnar, Viking from the North
He had almost slipped into unconciousness, sitting there resting against the railing of the ship with his hand resting on the woman's shoulder. Then she moved some, so he pressed down a little more insistantly. He wasn't trying to hurt her, just keep her still on the vessal. Then he felt her shove his hand off of her shoulder and he looked down, he was obviously confused.
She looked as if she was afraid that he would just suddenly rise up and slay her where she knelt. Then she moved the fur from around her throat and shoulders and tucked it under her arms and over her breasts.
"Stay still," Gunnar said as their eyes locked again. He knew she didn't know what he said, but he hoped the tone would still her movement.
She made a sound. Gunnar assumed she was speaking, but it was the first time he heard her say anything. It sounded like one word, but with these crazy Gaelic folk, he could never be sure. He wondered why she sounded so gruff and male, but he could see her mouth working. Then she said a small string of words, but all Gunnar could do was look at her with slight confusion on his face.
He made a 'sitting down,' motion towards the woman. She just stared at him. He placed his hand on her shoulder to push her down, but she placed her hand on his forearm, very near to the slash mark on his skin. He had a hard time repressing the impulse to just smack her to the deck of the ship. But he didn't, he held still as her eyes moved from the wound to his own eyes. What did Gunnar see there? Worry? Compassion? He wasn't sure what it was, perhaps she was just waiting for the moment to strike and escape. He relaxed his shoulders, she could do what she wanted to do at the moment, for if she attacked him, he could always put her overboard again.
Then he felt her fingers touch the wound, but he didn't flinch. It was a slight pain compaired to what he had suffered before at the hands of his foes. He had a particuarly long scar on his back from where he caught a claymoore once, on a raid into the land of the Gael's. The only reason he hadn't been slain from the blow was because he had his shield still strapped to his back. The sheild had exploded into a thousand small flechettes of wood and there was an interesting burst pattern around the long wound that went clean across his back.
He watched the movements of her hands across his arm, then she moved her hand over the slash mark. He furrowed his brow at looked up at her. He shook his head and made a slashing motion over his arm, thinking she was wondering how it happened. She repeated the motion, then she did it again. Slowly Gunnar relised what she wanted, so he shouted out to Karl. "Karl, you got any needle and thread in that wagon?"
Karl came over with the thread and needle. He held them up, "Do you wish me to sew up the wound Gunnar?"
"No...I think she wishes to try Karl...I shall repay you for your help when reach home." To which Karl nodded and moved off to his spot again.
Gunnar looked down at her, then he placed the needle and thread into her hands. He gave her a stern look, but then offered his arm up so she could see it a little better. Her hands gently took hold of his arm and she pressed the needle through his flesh. He relaxed again from the pain, and nodded to her. She might as well keep going.
He watched the neat, tiny little rows of stitches make their way across the gash on his arm. They were excellently stitched, and
would leave little sign of a scar behind. He moved his arm about, as if to test the strength of the stitches. Then he motioned with his head to his back. That would need even more work than his arm. He saw her teeth chattering and her hands were shaking, but he needed the wound closed first.
Gunnar shifted on his stool, so she could see the arc of the slash on his back. He could hear her moving a bit around behind him, to get to the wound. He could hear a slight gasp as she saw his back, which had born more than it's fair share of wounds and injuries. He felt her hand touch his back and it was his turn to gasp from the sudden cold. He felt the needle moving quickly through his skin as she worked, and he could feel the tension in her arms as she fought to keep herself steady. Then she stopped stitching and he felt her hook a finger into the band of his breeches.
He looked over his shoulder, a little confused by the motion. She wanted his pants off? But why would she want that, Gunnar thought. She tugged down on his breeches again, and it was like when she first offered to close the wound for him. She would mime something, he would be confused, then she would do it again until he finally decided he would take his pants off. He wasn't really sure why, but she was insistant.
He pushed himself to his feet, forcing himself to stay standing on legs that suddenly didn't seem to want to support his weight. He was cold, though not as cold as her, he had lost quite a bit of blood. He had also just fought for his life a few moments ago.
He turned away from her, as she needed to be behind him, and he unlaced his breeches. He let the breeches sag a bit so she could get at the wound, and he heard a ragged breath drawn in behind himself. He felt he stitch quickly, and then she leaned in close and seperated the thread with her teeth. He felt something touch his rump, then she crawled back in front of him.
She croaked a word out in a soft voice, then she grasped her throat. He raised his breeches again, holding them closed with his hands. He looked the woman straight in the eyes, and she returned the look for a moment, but then she turned and wrapped the fur around herself more tightly.
Gunnar knew she was cold, and he knew there was only one thing he could do to help her. At least until they could get a fire going. She was facing the other way, so he pulled off his boots and his breeches and set them to the side. Wouldn't do to wear wet and cold clothing when trying to warm someone up. He reached down with his unwounded arm and grabbed a fist full of fur, which he lifted up and off of the woman. He smiled slightly as she made eye contact with him and scrambled to hide her breasts and loins all at the same moment. He knew she wouldn't understand, so he continued to work, unashamed of his own nudity, but could see he was clearly ashamed of hers.
No one else on the ship was even paying attention anymore. They assumed Gunnar was going to bed her, here on the ship, and it was none of their concern. Gunnar spread the fur out on the deck, in a dry patch. He placed the fur side up, and laid out across it. He pulled the other side up and over his body as he adjusted himself to be comfortable.
She was still near to his side, but she was shaking like a leaf and the whole ship could hear the chatter of her teeth. She obviously looked upset, perhaps she thought he ment to leave her here? He reached out with his un-injured arm and wrapped it around her extremely cold and bare waist. He pulled her off of her knees and down to her side on the deck. She made a noise of protest and then he opened the flap of fur that laid over him and pulled her into it's fold. His hand was wrapped around her body, just below her breasts as he brought her in close to his chest. He could slowly feel her trembling subside, the chattering of her teeth going after that.
Before Gunnar knew it, her breathing was soft and regular and she was asleep. He didnt blame her, she must have had an exhausting morning. After he knew she would be warm enough, he maneuvered himself over her body and pressed her into the fold of the fur. Thus if she moved, she wouldn't accidently fall out from under the protective warmth of the fur. He wrapped his arms around her, feeling her arms gently holding onto his own in her sleep. Then he himself slept. They were still several hours from land, and he was just as tired as she was. He found himself asleep soon after he had repositioned her.
Right before he slept, he pulled the fur up over their heads, sealing out the last of the cold air.
He had almost slipped into unconciousness, sitting there resting against the railing of the ship with his hand resting on the woman's shoulder. Then she moved some, so he pressed down a little more insistantly. He wasn't trying to hurt her, just keep her still on the vessal. Then he felt her shove his hand off of her shoulder and he looked down, he was obviously confused.
She looked as if she was afraid that he would just suddenly rise up and slay her where she knelt. Then she moved the fur from around her throat and shoulders and tucked it under her arms and over her breasts.
"Stay still," Gunnar said as their eyes locked again. He knew she didn't know what he said, but he hoped the tone would still her movement.
She made a sound. Gunnar assumed she was speaking, but it was the first time he heard her say anything. It sounded like one word, but with these crazy Gaelic folk, he could never be sure. He wondered why she sounded so gruff and male, but he could see her mouth working. Then she said a small string of words, but all Gunnar could do was look at her with slight confusion on his face.
He made a 'sitting down,' motion towards the woman. She just stared at him. He placed his hand on her shoulder to push her down, but she placed her hand on his forearm, very near to the slash mark on his skin. He had a hard time repressing the impulse to just smack her to the deck of the ship. But he didn't, he held still as her eyes moved from the wound to his own eyes. What did Gunnar see there? Worry? Compassion? He wasn't sure what it was, perhaps she was just waiting for the moment to strike and escape. He relaxed his shoulders, she could do what she wanted to do at the moment, for if she attacked him, he could always put her overboard again.
Then he felt her fingers touch the wound, but he didn't flinch. It was a slight pain compaired to what he had suffered before at the hands of his foes. He had a particuarly long scar on his back from where he caught a claymoore once, on a raid into the land of the Gael's. The only reason he hadn't been slain from the blow was because he had his shield still strapped to his back. The sheild had exploded into a thousand small flechettes of wood and there was an interesting burst pattern around the long wound that went clean across his back.
He watched the movements of her hands across his arm, then she moved her hand over the slash mark. He furrowed his brow at looked up at her. He shook his head and made a slashing motion over his arm, thinking she was wondering how it happened. She repeated the motion, then she did it again. Slowly Gunnar relised what she wanted, so he shouted out to Karl. "Karl, you got any needle and thread in that wagon?"
Karl came over with the thread and needle. He held them up, "Do you wish me to sew up the wound Gunnar?"
"No...I think she wishes to try Karl...I shall repay you for your help when reach home." To which Karl nodded and moved off to his spot again.
Gunnar looked down at her, then he placed the needle and thread into her hands. He gave her a stern look, but then offered his arm up so she could see it a little better. Her hands gently took hold of his arm and she pressed the needle through his flesh. He relaxed again from the pain, and nodded to her. She might as well keep going.
He watched the neat, tiny little rows of stitches make their way across the gash on his arm. They were excellently stitched, and
would leave little sign of a scar behind. He moved his arm about, as if to test the strength of the stitches. Then he motioned with his head to his back. That would need even more work than his arm. He saw her teeth chattering and her hands were shaking, but he needed the wound closed first.
Gunnar shifted on his stool, so she could see the arc of the slash on his back. He could hear her moving a bit around behind him, to get to the wound. He could hear a slight gasp as she saw his back, which had born more than it's fair share of wounds and injuries. He felt her hand touch his back and it was his turn to gasp from the sudden cold. He felt the needle moving quickly through his skin as she worked, and he could feel the tension in her arms as she fought to keep herself steady. Then she stopped stitching and he felt her hook a finger into the band of his breeches.
He looked over his shoulder, a little confused by the motion. She wanted his pants off? But why would she want that, Gunnar thought. She tugged down on his breeches again, and it was like when she first offered to close the wound for him. She would mime something, he would be confused, then she would do it again until he finally decided he would take his pants off. He wasn't really sure why, but she was insistant.
He pushed himself to his feet, forcing himself to stay standing on legs that suddenly didn't seem to want to support his weight. He was cold, though not as cold as her, he had lost quite a bit of blood. He had also just fought for his life a few moments ago.
He turned away from her, as she needed to be behind him, and he unlaced his breeches. He let the breeches sag a bit so she could get at the wound, and he heard a ragged breath drawn in behind himself. He felt he stitch quickly, and then she leaned in close and seperated the thread with her teeth. He felt something touch his rump, then she crawled back in front of him.
She croaked a word out in a soft voice, then she grasped her throat. He raised his breeches again, holding them closed with his hands. He looked the woman straight in the eyes, and she returned the look for a moment, but then she turned and wrapped the fur around herself more tightly.
Gunnar knew she was cold, and he knew there was only one thing he could do to help her. At least until they could get a fire going. She was facing the other way, so he pulled off his boots and his breeches and set them to the side. Wouldn't do to wear wet and cold clothing when trying to warm someone up. He reached down with his unwounded arm and grabbed a fist full of fur, which he lifted up and off of the woman. He smiled slightly as she made eye contact with him and scrambled to hide her breasts and loins all at the same moment. He knew she wouldn't understand, so he continued to work, unashamed of his own nudity, but could see he was clearly ashamed of hers.
No one else on the ship was even paying attention anymore. They assumed Gunnar was going to bed her, here on the ship, and it was none of their concern. Gunnar spread the fur out on the deck, in a dry patch. He placed the fur side up, and laid out across it. He pulled the other side up and over his body as he adjusted himself to be comfortable.
She was still near to his side, but she was shaking like a leaf and the whole ship could hear the chatter of her teeth. She obviously looked upset, perhaps she thought he ment to leave her here? He reached out with his un-injured arm and wrapped it around her extremely cold and bare waist. He pulled her off of her knees and down to her side on the deck. She made a noise of protest and then he opened the flap of fur that laid over him and pulled her into it's fold. His hand was wrapped around her body, just below her breasts as he brought her in close to his chest. He could slowly feel her trembling subside, the chattering of her teeth going after that.
Before Gunnar knew it, her breathing was soft and regular and she was asleep. He didnt blame her, she must have had an exhausting morning. After he knew she would be warm enough, he maneuvered himself over her body and pressed her into the fold of the fur. Thus if she moved, she wouldn't accidently fall out from under the protective warmth of the fur. He wrapped his arms around her, feeling her arms gently holding onto his own in her sleep. Then he himself slept. They were still several hours from land, and he was just as tired as she was. He found himself asleep soon after he had repositioned her.
Right before he slept, he pulled the fur up over their heads, sealing out the last of the cold air.
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Rhovan
Weevil Genius
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Gunnar, Viking from the North
Gunnar dremt as well, laying there beside the woman. He dremt of her lilting voice, and her green eyes. He dremt of her unusal stance towards her violent kidnapper. How she clung to him after her pulled her from the water, how she insisted on stitching his wounds closed, how she ran to the battle and how she spit in his face. Of course that only occupied part of Gunnar's dream. The rest was something decidedly more erotic.
It was burned into his minds eye, the white of this woman's flesh. He could see the slight blue tint under her toes nails and finger nails. The purple hue to her lips, the unconcious chattering of her teeth. He could feel her flesh under his hands as she shivered violently on the deck of the ship and he thought her end was near. But she was strong. Either of will or spirit but she fought back against the clutched of the deep green sea and roused on the deck of the ship. She even watched the battle between the two viscious viking men.
But even more than her discomforts, Gunnar dremt of her body. Her small feet and delicatly crafted ankles. Her claves and thighs molded into the athletic legs of a woman who was to poor to afford a horse and had to walk everywhere she went. A woman who hiked in the woods and the small mountains to find the herbs of her profession. Her legs went to her hips, which swelled out to form a delicious dip leading to her waist. Gunnar liked her hips, and if he had too, he would say they were her third best feature. He knew she could have many children if she but found a proper mate. A strong mate, with strong seed. Who stronger than a viking?
As Gunnar dreamed, his body took to the images with a passion. His cock rising up from his waist at the same time as his arm dragged the nearby body to his chest. At first his hand just rested on her side, but soon as he continued to have images of the beautiful woman running through his head, his hand started to move and encountered her breast. He was oblivious to her stiffing, and his hand reached up and cupped her flesh lightly. Then he squeezed her in his hand a couple times. He felt her move away, and unconciously he dragged her back to his chest. This movement brought his hand to her nipple, which he rolled between his fingers and squeezed very gently. He had started to speak softly, asking in his own language disjointed questions. "Help...why?...green eyes....don't know her name....strong mother....hips...beautiful..." His words didn't make sense, but they matched what happened in his dream, if not always at the exact moment.
He felt her body move away from him again, and this time his dreams changed. He had been dreaming about her lovely breasts. The graceful curve of her neck (her second best feature) and of course her strikingly green eyes (best feature.). But when her body pulled away again, Ragnar appeared. He grabbed her out from under him and challenged Gunnar to his face, declairing him a coward in front of everyone. Gunnar reached out in his dream and in actuality and roughly dragged the woman back in front of him. In his dream he shouted, and Ragnar disappeared like smoke rising off a fire. Gunnar's hands roamed over her, in an effort to see if she was hurt, but the previously erotic thoughts had left his body in a state of arousal. As he pulled her to him, his erection was pressed firmly against her backside. The head of his cock was pressed right between the cheeks of her buttocks and she didn't seem to like that at all. She pulled away, and he once again drew her back. This time however, he turned his body some so that she was flat on her back, and he was half turned towards her. His arm had made it's way under her head during the interlude, and his other hand was resting so that his elbow was on her stomach, his hand cupping her breast still. Once in his dream he was mollified she was unharmed from Ragnar, Gunnar slipped into the state of dreamlessness. His erection subsided and he was once again, truely asleep.
In the morning, Gunnar awoke early. As he was prone to do every day. But he had put himself to be much earlier the night before, as he had been injured and exhausted. So he was definatly well rested and full of vigor. Especially since he found himself still in that same position when he woke up. He head pillowed on his arm, and tucked in tight to his side, his left hand cupping one of her breasts. She even had her hands on his, where he incorrectly assumed she was holding his hand, when she had really fallen asleep trying to get his hand off of her. Gunnar slipped from the fur and tucked it down firmly to make sure it wouldn't blow in the wind and freeze the poor woman again. He grabbed his cold, but now dry breeces from the rail where they had been placed and slipped into them. He gave himself enough time to drain his bladder before he tightened them up. He pulled his boots on and stamped his feet to settle them in. Then he stood at the railing, watching their heading but still bare chested in the bracing winds and sea spray. He stood there for some time, listening to the shouts on the boat, and thinking of his home land. He heard a soft mewling sound from behind him, but he ignored it for the moment. Reveling in the sights and sounds of three Viking long boats, eating the leagues of water from where they were and where they wished to be. Gunnar looked behind himself finally and spotted the woman in the furs. He spotted the fact that she was looking at him. He smiled a broad smile. "Come," but she returned a confused look to him. So he waved his arm, as if he were telling her to stand next to him. He watched her get to her feet, but at the same time, keep the fur around her. To protect her modesty or to keep warm, he wasn't sure, but he knew it was no easy feet to do what she just managed to do.
When she stood beside him, he pointed ahead. Towards the little spur of land that they used as the launching area for their long boats. Up a little ways, behind the thick screen of trees would be their village, a half dozen plumes of white wood smoke marking it's exsistance on the horizon. Gunnar beamed and he stepped over the one step to stand behind the woman. His woman now, by right of conquest. His hands rested lightly on either of her shoulders as he looked over her head, he was quite taller than her. "You shall enjoy it here," he said, knowing she would not understand, nor would she believe him if she could. He watched his fast approaching homeland from over her head for a few minutes, before he moved around to stand beside her again. He watched her, she looked uncomfortable. Her lips were slightly cracked, and he could see her working her throat uncomfortably. He didn't relise the harm the salt water had caused to her throat, mouth and tongue.
"What is wrong?" he asked, a concerned look on his face. When she didn't understand, he pointed to her lips, touching them with the callused tip of his finger. Then he ran his finger tip from her lips down to her throat, where he could feel the muscles working to try and ease the rough and aggrivated dryness from her tissues.
Gunnar dremt as well, laying there beside the woman. He dremt of her lilting voice, and her green eyes. He dremt of her unusal stance towards her violent kidnapper. How she clung to him after her pulled her from the water, how she insisted on stitching his wounds closed, how she ran to the battle and how she spit in his face. Of course that only occupied part of Gunnar's dream. The rest was something decidedly more erotic.
It was burned into his minds eye, the white of this woman's flesh. He could see the slight blue tint under her toes nails and finger nails. The purple hue to her lips, the unconcious chattering of her teeth. He could feel her flesh under his hands as she shivered violently on the deck of the ship and he thought her end was near. But she was strong. Either of will or spirit but she fought back against the clutched of the deep green sea and roused on the deck of the ship. She even watched the battle between the two viscious viking men.
But even more than her discomforts, Gunnar dremt of her body. Her small feet and delicatly crafted ankles. Her claves and thighs molded into the athletic legs of a woman who was to poor to afford a horse and had to walk everywhere she went. A woman who hiked in the woods and the small mountains to find the herbs of her profession. Her legs went to her hips, which swelled out to form a delicious dip leading to her waist. Gunnar liked her hips, and if he had too, he would say they were her third best feature. He knew she could have many children if she but found a proper mate. A strong mate, with strong seed. Who stronger than a viking?
As Gunnar dreamed, his body took to the images with a passion. His cock rising up from his waist at the same time as his arm dragged the nearby body to his chest. At first his hand just rested on her side, but soon as he continued to have images of the beautiful woman running through his head, his hand started to move and encountered her breast. He was oblivious to her stiffing, and his hand reached up and cupped her flesh lightly. Then he squeezed her in his hand a couple times. He felt her move away, and unconciously he dragged her back to his chest. This movement brought his hand to her nipple, which he rolled between his fingers and squeezed very gently. He had started to speak softly, asking in his own language disjointed questions. "Help...why?...green eyes....don't know her name....strong mother....hips...beautiful..." His words didn't make sense, but they matched what happened in his dream, if not always at the exact moment.
He felt her body move away from him again, and this time his dreams changed. He had been dreaming about her lovely breasts. The graceful curve of her neck (her second best feature) and of course her strikingly green eyes (best feature.). But when her body pulled away again, Ragnar appeared. He grabbed her out from under him and challenged Gunnar to his face, declairing him a coward in front of everyone. Gunnar reached out in his dream and in actuality and roughly dragged the woman back in front of him. In his dream he shouted, and Ragnar disappeared like smoke rising off a fire. Gunnar's hands roamed over her, in an effort to see if she was hurt, but the previously erotic thoughts had left his body in a state of arousal. As he pulled her to him, his erection was pressed firmly against her backside. The head of his cock was pressed right between the cheeks of her buttocks and she didn't seem to like that at all. She pulled away, and he once again drew her back. This time however, he turned his body some so that she was flat on her back, and he was half turned towards her. His arm had made it's way under her head during the interlude, and his other hand was resting so that his elbow was on her stomach, his hand cupping her breast still. Once in his dream he was mollified she was unharmed from Ragnar, Gunnar slipped into the state of dreamlessness. His erection subsided and he was once again, truely asleep.
In the morning, Gunnar awoke early. As he was prone to do every day. But he had put himself to be much earlier the night before, as he had been injured and exhausted. So he was definatly well rested and full of vigor. Especially since he found himself still in that same position when he woke up. He head pillowed on his arm, and tucked in tight to his side, his left hand cupping one of her breasts. She even had her hands on his, where he incorrectly assumed she was holding his hand, when she had really fallen asleep trying to get his hand off of her. Gunnar slipped from the fur and tucked it down firmly to make sure it wouldn't blow in the wind and freeze the poor woman again. He grabbed his cold, but now dry breeces from the rail where they had been placed and slipped into them. He gave himself enough time to drain his bladder before he tightened them up. He pulled his boots on and stamped his feet to settle them in. Then he stood at the railing, watching their heading but still bare chested in the bracing winds and sea spray. He stood there for some time, listening to the shouts on the boat, and thinking of his home land. He heard a soft mewling sound from behind him, but he ignored it for the moment. Reveling in the sights and sounds of three Viking long boats, eating the leagues of water from where they were and where they wished to be. Gunnar looked behind himself finally and spotted the woman in the furs. He spotted the fact that she was looking at him. He smiled a broad smile. "Come," but she returned a confused look to him. So he waved his arm, as if he were telling her to stand next to him. He watched her get to her feet, but at the same time, keep the fur around her. To protect her modesty or to keep warm, he wasn't sure, but he knew it was no easy feet to do what she just managed to do.
When she stood beside him, he pointed ahead. Towards the little spur of land that they used as the launching area for their long boats. Up a little ways, behind the thick screen of trees would be their village, a half dozen plumes of white wood smoke marking it's exsistance on the horizon. Gunnar beamed and he stepped over the one step to stand behind the woman. His woman now, by right of conquest. His hands rested lightly on either of her shoulders as he looked over her head, he was quite taller than her. "You shall enjoy it here," he said, knowing she would not understand, nor would she believe him if she could. He watched his fast approaching homeland from over her head for a few minutes, before he moved around to stand beside her again. He watched her, she looked uncomfortable. Her lips were slightly cracked, and he could see her working her throat uncomfortably. He didn't relise the harm the salt water had caused to her throat, mouth and tongue.
"What is wrong?" he asked, a concerned look on his face. When she didn't understand, he pointed to her lips, touching them with the callused tip of his finger. Then he ran his finger tip from her lips down to her throat, where he could feel the muscles working to try and ease the rough and aggrivated dryness from her tissues.
Rhovan
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Gunnar, Viking from the North.
When Gunnar's finger lightly touched her lips, she recoiled as if it were red hot. A wave of apology crossed his features. He hadn't ment to hurt the woman, but she didn't understand his words. She again mets eyes with him, which constantly surprised him. Men on the battle field in full blood lust wouldn't meet his eyes, but she looked into them like they were a childs. Harmless. She said something, and he shook his head. He didn't know what she ment.
"Gunnar!" Erik shouted from where he stood, holding a rope to steady the main sail of the vessal. "How do you think your woman will take to the bathing and sauna? Other than yesterday, I doubt she has bathed this year!" Gunnar laughed. It was a big joke amonst the Viking's about the dirty habits of the people they raided. Gunnar looked back to the woman. She wasn't exactly clean, but she wasn't dirty either. But Gunnar knew they both would need a good cleaning, as he had spent the night beside her, and in the sea before that. It would feel good to wash down, then to sweat out the poisons of the Gaelic lands.
He turned to face the woman, to find out about her lips when he felt her hand touch his chest. He looked down at the hand for a moment. He heard a word that was similar to his name. "Gunn-ar." He looked up from her hand on his bare chest and met eyes with her, she was certainly full of surprises. This was the third time she had touched him, instead of him touching her. And the second time that it could be considered somewhat intimate. Then she said it again, but she said it quicker so it made more sense. "Gunnar", it sounded very close, though it was unusal hearing his name in her Gaelic tones. He was also surprised by how harsh her voice sounded, nearly as bad as some of the men on the ship.
Then he felt her hand leave his chest, and touch her own chest. "Brianna." He smiled that broad smile of his again, and placed his hand on her chest, just above the cleft between her breasts. "Bri-HANna," he said, slowly working his mouth around the odd sounds. He looked up at her face, the smile still on his and he saw her blush. Then she swung her hand and smacked his from her chest. His eyes widened, he was geniunly surprised. He thought they were getting along. He looked a little angry at the woman now. He was being nice to her, when he obviously didn't because he was bigger and her captour and then she hit him? But then she grabbed his hand where it hung at his side, and she placed it high on her chest, more towards her throat than her breasts.
"Brianna." She said again. And again, he said the same thing as before, but with more confidence. "Bri-HANna." She smiled and he smiled back, the previous blow to his arm forgotten. He responded to the first smile on her face by saying her name again. "Bri-HANna!" Then she shook her head, and tried again. "BriANNa." She said, the smile still on her lips. He repeated what she said, as he heard it and could form it. "Bri-HANna." She laughed then, and he was taken back by it's musical quality even with the harsh edge of her injured throat.
He looked back to his home land, still a ways off, and then he held out his arm to her, so she could see the stitching. He moved it about so she was looking at it. He wanted to know how it looked, the stitches were just as tight as before, but the wound could use some cleaning and probably a bandage. There was some dried blood on his forearm and back as well. He needed new clothes just as much as she needed clothes at all. When she was looking at his forearm, his free hand reached up and touched her lips again, gently though the tip of the finger was rough and calloused like the rest of his hands. From wielding a sword, an axe, and from pulling rope. From tending his lands and repairing his home, his hands were his living. It showed very clearly that fact on their surfaces.
His finger tip touched her lips but breifly, before she pulled his hand down and away. So he reached to the pile of his discared shirts and fur and mail and pulled out a small water skin. He opened the top with his teeth and he poured some over his arm where she was intently looking. Then he held it out to her, perhaps she was thirsty. Gunnar had slacked his thrist when he first woke up, but she hadn't yet. So he held it so she could reach it easily enough. He was surprised however.
Surprised about his concern for her lips.
When Gunnar's finger lightly touched her lips, she recoiled as if it were red hot. A wave of apology crossed his features. He hadn't ment to hurt the woman, but she didn't understand his words. She again mets eyes with him, which constantly surprised him. Men on the battle field in full blood lust wouldn't meet his eyes, but she looked into them like they were a childs. Harmless. She said something, and he shook his head. He didn't know what she ment.
"Gunnar!" Erik shouted from where he stood, holding a rope to steady the main sail of the vessal. "How do you think your woman will take to the bathing and sauna? Other than yesterday, I doubt she has bathed this year!" Gunnar laughed. It was a big joke amonst the Viking's about the dirty habits of the people they raided. Gunnar looked back to the woman. She wasn't exactly clean, but she wasn't dirty either. But Gunnar knew they both would need a good cleaning, as he had spent the night beside her, and in the sea before that. It would feel good to wash down, then to sweat out the poisons of the Gaelic lands.
He turned to face the woman, to find out about her lips when he felt her hand touch his chest. He looked down at the hand for a moment. He heard a word that was similar to his name. "Gunn-ar." He looked up from her hand on his bare chest and met eyes with her, she was certainly full of surprises. This was the third time she had touched him, instead of him touching her. And the second time that it could be considered somewhat intimate. Then she said it again, but she said it quicker so it made more sense. "Gunnar", it sounded very close, though it was unusal hearing his name in her Gaelic tones. He was also surprised by how harsh her voice sounded, nearly as bad as some of the men on the ship.
Then he felt her hand leave his chest, and touch her own chest. "Brianna." He smiled that broad smile of his again, and placed his hand on her chest, just above the cleft between her breasts. "Bri-HANna," he said, slowly working his mouth around the odd sounds. He looked up at her face, the smile still on his and he saw her blush. Then she swung her hand and smacked his from her chest. His eyes widened, he was geniunly surprised. He thought they were getting along. He looked a little angry at the woman now. He was being nice to her, when he obviously didn't because he was bigger and her captour and then she hit him? But then she grabbed his hand where it hung at his side, and she placed it high on her chest, more towards her throat than her breasts.
"Brianna." She said again. And again, he said the same thing as before, but with more confidence. "Bri-HANna." She smiled and he smiled back, the previous blow to his arm forgotten. He responded to the first smile on her face by saying her name again. "Bri-HANna!" Then she shook her head, and tried again. "BriANNa." She said, the smile still on her lips. He repeated what she said, as he heard it and could form it. "Bri-HANna." She laughed then, and he was taken back by it's musical quality even with the harsh edge of her injured throat.
He looked back to his home land, still a ways off, and then he held out his arm to her, so she could see the stitching. He moved it about so she was looking at it. He wanted to know how it looked, the stitches were just as tight as before, but the wound could use some cleaning and probably a bandage. There was some dried blood on his forearm and back as well. He needed new clothes just as much as she needed clothes at all. When she was looking at his forearm, his free hand reached up and touched her lips again, gently though the tip of the finger was rough and calloused like the rest of his hands. From wielding a sword, an axe, and from pulling rope. From tending his lands and repairing his home, his hands were his living. It showed very clearly that fact on their surfaces.
His finger tip touched her lips but breifly, before she pulled his hand down and away. So he reached to the pile of his discared shirts and fur and mail and pulled out a small water skin. He opened the top with his teeth and he poured some over his arm where she was intently looking. Then he held it out to her, perhaps she was thirsty. Gunnar had slacked his thrist when he first woke up, but she hadn't yet. So he held it so she could reach it easily enough. He was surprised however.
Surprised about his concern for her lips.
Rhovan
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Gunnar, Viking from the North
Gunnar held out the waterskin to Brihanna, and she snatched it from his hand. She tipped her head back and poured the water from the skin to her lips and into her mouth. She swallowed fast and long, until soon she was choking. Gunnar pulled the flask from Brihanna's hand and patted her on the back firmly, then rubbed his palm against her back gently. She was panting as she tried to catch her breath, and take the flash back from his hand at the same time. Gunnar raised his hand up high so she couldn't get ahold of the flask again. "No...you will make yourself sick," Gunnar tried to counsel Brianna, but she didn't understand, and she didn't seem to care to understand at the moment. She made a sound, and Gunnar had to shake his head. He felt bad for teasing her with the water, but he didn't want her to suffer from the eventual sickness. Gunnar gave in to the pleading look in her eyes however, and he held the flask out. She tried to pull it out of his hand, but he lifted it out of her reach again and shook her head. "No...just drink," he said. He tipped the flask over and she drank, for a surprisingly long time. He could tell that her voice sounded a little softer, and he was glad she didn't sound like a man.
Then the ship was brought into it's berth and the ship lerched to a sudden stop. Gunnar's legs accomidated the sudden stop and he stayed in position. But then Brihanna stumbled and landed heavily against Gunnar's chest. He heard her grunt and he could feel the sudden forced breath from her mouth forced across his chest. He saw her hands come up to brace herself, so she didn't slam face first into his chest. As her hands flew up, the fur dropped to the ground with a speed that seemed deceptivly faster than gravity would require. In a flash, Brihanna was naked in front of Gunnar, who was naked to the waist. Brihanna pushed to get away from Gunnar's chest, but he didn't want to let her go. He had instinctivly wrapped his arms around her to prevent her falling to the deck below. Gunnar suddenly remembered his dream from the night before, and he had the sudden foolish thought that Ragnar was going to take her away from him. He shook his head and cleared his mind of thoughts of the dream to see her trying to reach her feet. He gripped her arm firmly but not roughly and held her upright, close to his chest. He saw her eyes, but he couldn't read the emotion that played there. So he dragged his eyes from her eyes and saw her body for the first time, in full light, without fearing for her immediate safety or survival. Then he saw her hand interpose itself between her crotch and his eyes. Gunnar grinned, he liked how she colored. The red spreading across the white of her normal flesh tone. It was amazing to watch really.
"You picked a good one Gunnar!" came an anonymous call to Gunnar's ears. Most of them men however just muttered a praise of her form, or a congratulations to him on his choice as they walked by. A few patted his back, but they all pointedly avoided touching her, as they saw what had happened to Ragnar. Gunnar had a look of pride on his face. It really was difficult to pick a woman from the shores of the Gaels. They wore so many layers of clothing, you could never know the state of them. Some were sickly thin, but looked hale from the clothing. Some were morbidly obese but held in by restrictive girtles. It was always a shot in the dark, but Gunnar had claimed the finest woman to come out of a raid in possibly the last ten years! Gunnar finally relised he needed to cover her up, so he released his hold on her and went down to his pile of clothing that was near his stool. He pulled out his tunic and looked back to Brihanna. He lifted both of his hands over his head, and signalled for her to do it "Put this on". She stared blankly, her hands trying to cover her breasts and groin simulatiously. He made the motion again, but she still didn't move. So he took her wrists in his hands and lifted her arms straight over her head. He looped the tunic over her raised hands and pulled it down onto her body. He made an adjustment and the tunic pulled down over her head. He pulled the lacing as tight as the cloth would allow, and then he tied it in a simple knot. He looked at her, and saw that the tunic was nearly a dress for the smaller woman, and she had a hard time not putting her shoulders through the neck opening.
He heard Brihanna say something to him, and she looked down, as if she were afraid or ashamed to meet his eye. He watched her fight with the tunic, trying to get it to stay on her upper body where she wanted it to stay. Then he felt her hand touch his chest, and she said his name again. This time, it was much more effective than before. Her voice had been at least partially soothed, her tone soft, and her saying of it was nearly perfect. "Gunnar," was all she said. It was all she knew. He smiled, it was a huge smile. She smiled back, and his smile grew larger. He picked up his large hand and placed it on her chest, once again, the lower edge of his palm very near to the tops of her breasts. "Bri-Hanna." He said, his smile not moving. He watched her move his hand higher again, then she shook her head and smiled. "Bri-Hanna," he said it again. He had a hard time wiping the huge smile from his face, but at this point, he didn't care.
Gunnar turned from Brihanna and started to collect his gear from the boat. His axes, his shield, his mail, his leathers and furs, a small portion of food and his stool. He picked up the fur from the ground that Brihanna had used, and he placed the food in the center. He balled it up and handed it to Brihanna and motioned for her to follow him to the edge of the ship. He placed the rest of his gear into a bundle and onto the shield. Then he threaded the axe handles through the straps on the shield to hold everything together. He lifted the load up to his shoulder and jumped off the side of the ship. With a loud splash, he sank thigh deep into the water, where he slogged across to the dry but tiny beach and the sward of grass behind it. He tossed the package across the beach and onto the grass, then he turned around and slogged back to the edge of the boat. He opened his arms and motioned with his hands for her to jump down to him. She only hesitated a moment, then she lept off, clutching the package to her chest as she fell. Gunnar caught her in his arms and was surpised again at her strength. She didn't question or stall, she just gathered her courage and jumped. She kept surprising him. He turned and carried her to the beach and he set her on her feet. She looked confused for a moment, so he motioned for her to touch the water with her fingers. When she did, she felt that it was ice cold. Gunnar smiled softly and stepped out of the ice cold, thigh deep water and moved to pick up his section of the goods.
Gunnar swung his arm again, to have her follow him. He shouted out a couple acknowledgements to the folk of the village as he move along. He had to chase off a small passel of children that had formed up around Brihanna. They were asking all kinds of questions that Gunnar didn't have the time to answer, so he shoo'd them off as he moved closer to Brihanna's side protectivly. He lead her through the center of the village, towards the huts that climbed up the side of a hill. Half of the hut was under ground, cut back into the hill for purposes of heating in the winter and cooling in the summer. He lead her up a small path, of sand in the grass. He took her about half way up the hill to a hut, the only hut without a plume of smoke rising out of it's squat chimney. As soon as his hand hit the gate that was in the small fence that wandered around his tiny front yard, a dog came out from another little cut out portion of the hill. His dog house having the same features pretty much as Gunnar's own home. The dog was small, and had wiry hair, and he was used to keep others from his yard. Or rather, to wake Gunnar if someone came into the yard.
Gunnar held open the gate for Brihanna and followed her through, shutting it behind them. He patted the dogs head, but the dog was busy sniffing at Brihanna's bare feet. Gunnar could see that Brihanna was getting cold again, clad only in the tunic. So he led her to the front door of his tiny hut, the only opening in the walls of the building aside from the chimney. He opened the door and let Brihanna enter first, then followed her in. The little dog came bounding in behind them as Gunnar shut the door. He moved with utter familiarity in the dark hut and got to the fire place. He dropped his package to his side and placed sticks into the hearth. Then he reached up above his head and found the stone with the flint and steel in it. He sparked it several times until he had a small flame in the kindling, then he leaned down and blew air across the small flame until it caught and quickly brought all of the fuel into it's yellow and orange splendour.
Gunnar stood up and looked around. Across the room, the hut was just a little warmer than outside. But in the back, towards the bed the room was around seventy degree's because it was insulated by a layer of thick earth. However the fire would soon have the hut brought up to a comfortable level. Gunnar put his package onto the table and motioned Brihanna to place hers on the table as well. He looked at her, then he gently lifted her arm and pointed to a dirty patch near her elbow. When she looked confused, he pointed to a clean patch on his still bare chest.
She didn't get it. So Gunnar went to the back of the hut, to a small side cubby. He pulled out some peices of cloth and fur and he balled it all up into one package. He walked to the door and signaled her to follow him. They exited the house, then the gate, leaving the little dog behind them. He lead her farther up the path towards a curious building near the summit of the hill. He led her inside and she could feel the warmth coming from behind a simple wooden door. He however led Brihanna through another door, into a private room with a large basin of water. He motioned for her to remove the tunic. She looked confused. So Gunnar dropped his breeches and then motioned for her to remove the tunic. She hesitated. "How can she leap from a ship, but not take off clothing?" Gunnar mused softly, then he moved to remove the tunic from her body.
Gunnar held out the waterskin to Brihanna, and she snatched it from his hand. She tipped her head back and poured the water from the skin to her lips and into her mouth. She swallowed fast and long, until soon she was choking. Gunnar pulled the flask from Brihanna's hand and patted her on the back firmly, then rubbed his palm against her back gently. She was panting as she tried to catch her breath, and take the flash back from his hand at the same time. Gunnar raised his hand up high so she couldn't get ahold of the flask again. "No...you will make yourself sick," Gunnar tried to counsel Brianna, but she didn't understand, and she didn't seem to care to understand at the moment. She made a sound, and Gunnar had to shake his head. He felt bad for teasing her with the water, but he didn't want her to suffer from the eventual sickness. Gunnar gave in to the pleading look in her eyes however, and he held the flask out. She tried to pull it out of his hand, but he lifted it out of her reach again and shook her head. "No...just drink," he said. He tipped the flask over and she drank, for a surprisingly long time. He could tell that her voice sounded a little softer, and he was glad she didn't sound like a man.
Then the ship was brought into it's berth and the ship lerched to a sudden stop. Gunnar's legs accomidated the sudden stop and he stayed in position. But then Brihanna stumbled and landed heavily against Gunnar's chest. He heard her grunt and he could feel the sudden forced breath from her mouth forced across his chest. He saw her hands come up to brace herself, so she didn't slam face first into his chest. As her hands flew up, the fur dropped to the ground with a speed that seemed deceptivly faster than gravity would require. In a flash, Brihanna was naked in front of Gunnar, who was naked to the waist. Brihanna pushed to get away from Gunnar's chest, but he didn't want to let her go. He had instinctivly wrapped his arms around her to prevent her falling to the deck below. Gunnar suddenly remembered his dream from the night before, and he had the sudden foolish thought that Ragnar was going to take her away from him. He shook his head and cleared his mind of thoughts of the dream to see her trying to reach her feet. He gripped her arm firmly but not roughly and held her upright, close to his chest. He saw her eyes, but he couldn't read the emotion that played there. So he dragged his eyes from her eyes and saw her body for the first time, in full light, without fearing for her immediate safety or survival. Then he saw her hand interpose itself between her crotch and his eyes. Gunnar grinned, he liked how she colored. The red spreading across the white of her normal flesh tone. It was amazing to watch really.
"You picked a good one Gunnar!" came an anonymous call to Gunnar's ears. Most of them men however just muttered a praise of her form, or a congratulations to him on his choice as they walked by. A few patted his back, but they all pointedly avoided touching her, as they saw what had happened to Ragnar. Gunnar had a look of pride on his face. It really was difficult to pick a woman from the shores of the Gaels. They wore so many layers of clothing, you could never know the state of them. Some were sickly thin, but looked hale from the clothing. Some were morbidly obese but held in by restrictive girtles. It was always a shot in the dark, but Gunnar had claimed the finest woman to come out of a raid in possibly the last ten years! Gunnar finally relised he needed to cover her up, so he released his hold on her and went down to his pile of clothing that was near his stool. He pulled out his tunic and looked back to Brihanna. He lifted both of his hands over his head, and signalled for her to do it "Put this on". She stared blankly, her hands trying to cover her breasts and groin simulatiously. He made the motion again, but she still didn't move. So he took her wrists in his hands and lifted her arms straight over her head. He looped the tunic over her raised hands and pulled it down onto her body. He made an adjustment and the tunic pulled down over her head. He pulled the lacing as tight as the cloth would allow, and then he tied it in a simple knot. He looked at her, and saw that the tunic was nearly a dress for the smaller woman, and she had a hard time not putting her shoulders through the neck opening.
He heard Brihanna say something to him, and she looked down, as if she were afraid or ashamed to meet his eye. He watched her fight with the tunic, trying to get it to stay on her upper body where she wanted it to stay. Then he felt her hand touch his chest, and she said his name again. This time, it was much more effective than before. Her voice had been at least partially soothed, her tone soft, and her saying of it was nearly perfect. "Gunnar," was all she said. It was all she knew. He smiled, it was a huge smile. She smiled back, and his smile grew larger. He picked up his large hand and placed it on her chest, once again, the lower edge of his palm very near to the tops of her breasts. "Bri-Hanna." He said, his smile not moving. He watched her move his hand higher again, then she shook her head and smiled. "Bri-Hanna," he said it again. He had a hard time wiping the huge smile from his face, but at this point, he didn't care.
Gunnar turned from Brihanna and started to collect his gear from the boat. His axes, his shield, his mail, his leathers and furs, a small portion of food and his stool. He picked up the fur from the ground that Brihanna had used, and he placed the food in the center. He balled it up and handed it to Brihanna and motioned for her to follow him to the edge of the ship. He placed the rest of his gear into a bundle and onto the shield. Then he threaded the axe handles through the straps on the shield to hold everything together. He lifted the load up to his shoulder and jumped off the side of the ship. With a loud splash, he sank thigh deep into the water, where he slogged across to the dry but tiny beach and the sward of grass behind it. He tossed the package across the beach and onto the grass, then he turned around and slogged back to the edge of the boat. He opened his arms and motioned with his hands for her to jump down to him. She only hesitated a moment, then she lept off, clutching the package to her chest as she fell. Gunnar caught her in his arms and was surpised again at her strength. She didn't question or stall, she just gathered her courage and jumped. She kept surprising him. He turned and carried her to the beach and he set her on her feet. She looked confused for a moment, so he motioned for her to touch the water with her fingers. When she did, she felt that it was ice cold. Gunnar smiled softly and stepped out of the ice cold, thigh deep water and moved to pick up his section of the goods.
Gunnar swung his arm again, to have her follow him. He shouted out a couple acknowledgements to the folk of the village as he move along. He had to chase off a small passel of children that had formed up around Brihanna. They were asking all kinds of questions that Gunnar didn't have the time to answer, so he shoo'd them off as he moved closer to Brihanna's side protectivly. He lead her through the center of the village, towards the huts that climbed up the side of a hill. Half of the hut was under ground, cut back into the hill for purposes of heating in the winter and cooling in the summer. He lead her up a small path, of sand in the grass. He took her about half way up the hill to a hut, the only hut without a plume of smoke rising out of it's squat chimney. As soon as his hand hit the gate that was in the small fence that wandered around his tiny front yard, a dog came out from another little cut out portion of the hill. His dog house having the same features pretty much as Gunnar's own home. The dog was small, and had wiry hair, and he was used to keep others from his yard. Or rather, to wake Gunnar if someone came into the yard.
Gunnar held open the gate for Brihanna and followed her through, shutting it behind them. He patted the dogs head, but the dog was busy sniffing at Brihanna's bare feet. Gunnar could see that Brihanna was getting cold again, clad only in the tunic. So he led her to the front door of his tiny hut, the only opening in the walls of the building aside from the chimney. He opened the door and let Brihanna enter first, then followed her in. The little dog came bounding in behind them as Gunnar shut the door. He moved with utter familiarity in the dark hut and got to the fire place. He dropped his package to his side and placed sticks into the hearth. Then he reached up above his head and found the stone with the flint and steel in it. He sparked it several times until he had a small flame in the kindling, then he leaned down and blew air across the small flame until it caught and quickly brought all of the fuel into it's yellow and orange splendour.
Gunnar stood up and looked around. Across the room, the hut was just a little warmer than outside. But in the back, towards the bed the room was around seventy degree's because it was insulated by a layer of thick earth. However the fire would soon have the hut brought up to a comfortable level. Gunnar put his package onto the table and motioned Brihanna to place hers on the table as well. He looked at her, then he gently lifted her arm and pointed to a dirty patch near her elbow. When she looked confused, he pointed to a clean patch on his still bare chest.
She didn't get it. So Gunnar went to the back of the hut, to a small side cubby. He pulled out some peices of cloth and fur and he balled it all up into one package. He walked to the door and signaled her to follow him. They exited the house, then the gate, leaving the little dog behind them. He lead her farther up the path towards a curious building near the summit of the hill. He led her inside and she could feel the warmth coming from behind a simple wooden door. He however led Brihanna through another door, into a private room with a large basin of water. He motioned for her to remove the tunic. She looked confused. So Gunnar dropped his breeches and then motioned for her to remove the tunic. She hesitated. "How can she leap from a ship, but not take off clothing?" Gunnar mused softly, then he moved to remove the tunic from her body.
Rhovan
Weevil Genius
- Joined
- Apr 18, 2003
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Gunnar, Viking from the North
When Gunnar dropped his breeches to the floor in the bathing room, he couldn't help but notice the look on Brihanna's face. She looked surprised and some what curious. But when he took a step towards her, to remove the tunic she was wearing, she turned and pulled open the door. Gunnar stretched a long arm of his past her body and shut the door firmly. Then she turned around, her back was pressed to the door and he half leaned over her, a small smile on his face. "Why would she run from a bath," Gunnar thought to himself, as his eyes took in her eyes. "Emerald green," he said softly as she stared him in the face, a slight shiver running the course of her body.
He let his hand down from the door and rested it on her shoulder, pulling her away from the door and taking her to the center of the room. His grip and his prodding was gentle but insistant. He stood her in the center and motioned for her not to move, "Maybe if I show her, she will understand..." He turned and grabbed a huge basin of water and up ended it over his own head. He panted a moment, then he tossed his head back and shouted out at the sudden cold on his body. Shaking his head slightly to get the water from his hair and beard, his fingers wiping it from his eyes he looked to Brihanna, who was just confused.
Since she didn't seem to understand, Gunnar was going to teach by doing. He reached down and grabbed ahold of the bottom hem of the tunic, then pulled upwards. She however placed both her hands onto his and shoved downwards. "Stubborn," Gunnar thought as he gave her a warning glance. If she was going to stay in his home, she would be clean! She shook her head and stepped backwards, so that he lost his hold on the tunic hem. Gunnar stepped forward, and with a growled oath to Loki, he grabbed ahold of the tunic and jerked it up and off of her body. For a split second, Brihanna stood there with her arms over her head and a look of perfect surprise on her features. Then she blushed bright red down to her breasts and covered herself with her arms. But by the time her fear filled gaze landed on Gunnar again, he was facing away from her and filling another basin full of water. He turned, walked close to the blushing and confused Brihanna and dumped the water onto her head. Gunnar felt slightly sorry about dumping cold water on Brihanna, but he had a huge smile on his face when he did it the second time. Her gasps and stuttering was a fairly comical sight to Gunnar, who was used to it for having done this sort of thing for years.
Gunnar placed the basin on the table top, and looked back to Brihanna, only to receive a stare from her green eyes that would have curdled milk. Gunnar smiled back, he had a little more consistancy than milk did. Gunner looked to his packet on the table and picked up a cake of soap. Now the bathing proper began. When he looked back, Brihanna was again going towards the door, shivering as she moved and she apprently had forgotten her nudity. Gunnar reached out again, planted a hand on Brihanna's shoulder and spun her around to face him once more. He pulled her closer to him, and looked down at her. Trying to speak with his eyes, telling her not to try to leave again. So she folded her arms across her chest to cover her breasts and give her some measure of warmth, as she stood there shivering. And shooting daggers at Gunnar's form.
Gunnar took the soap between his palms and built up a large amount of lather which he then applied to his own body. He scrubbed himself first, his armpits, his chest, his legs, his feet, his loins. He took a little extra time on his hands and nails as well. Then, using the soap he lathered up his hair, until he stood there, mostly covered in bubbles of soap. "Your turn," Gunnar told Brihanna, as he held the soap out to her. She shook her head, he offered it again. She stared a defiant stare and shivered some more.
"You will be clean!" Gunnar growled as he reached out and took ahold of Brihanna's arm. He pulled her towards his and then slid his hand to her wrist, where he lifted both up over her head. Holding the soap in his other hand, he started to rub it up and down her arm, cleaning the part he held captive first. He felt her other hand shove his soap wielding hand away, but he just brought it back in, to finish lathering her up. He scrubbed her arm that was in the air, her underarm, down her side, across her back and buttocks and then he switched which arm he held up. He scrubbed the other side of her body, even taking time to clean her neck gently with his large meaty hands. Gunnar had started it as an exercise to demonstrate how one washed to Brihanna, but then he became aware of what he was doing. He was bathing a beautiful woman, something he and his past mate would do lovingly every night.
Gunnar released her arm, which she quickly snapped back to her side in a protetive gesture. But Gunnar's hands had set down the soap, now he was using the lather that already covered her body to wash her. He could hear her breathing changing as he stopped roughly trying to clean her, and gently explored her body under the guise of cleaning. His fingers splayed, his palms brushing against her flesh from time to time, he started to enjoy his hands touching her skins. Memories of previous times with his mate clouded his thoughts as he felt she freeze under his touch. Perhaps she was scare, or she had just as much desire as Gunnar, but he was exploring, content to feel every inch of her body with his sensative though calloused fingers.
Next Gunnar's hands found Brihanna's breasts, for the first time when he was awake and aware of it. He placed his palms over her breasts gently, his finger tips squeezing ever so lightly, then he moved his hands to the side, so his thumbs could rest on her nipples. He pressed them in towards her body lightly, then he placed his thumbs under them and dragged up over them, which he repeated as he moved his thumbs down over her nipples again. He could hear Brihanna's gasp and he looked up. He no longer saw the green eyes of Brihanna, but the blue eyes of his long dead wife. Gunnar's eyes were a jumble of emotions, sorrow, lust, and happyness. His eyes were moist, but if it was water or tears Brihanna couldn't tell. Gunnar was reliving one of the many nights when he would lovingly bathe his wife.
Seeing his wife in front of him, Gunnar brought Brihanna over closer to his body. His hands slowly leaving her breasts and moving to either side of her body. One hand moved down and rested on the gentle swell of her stomach, the other hand decended her back until it rested on her bottocks, holding tight to them. Gunnar however knew that all of his wife needed to be bathed, not just the parts that were easily seen, and as such he slid his hand from her stomach to her loins. For a moment he felt her thighs resisting his movement, but he still pressed past, ignoring the silent plea of quivering muscles. His fingers splayed across her nether lips and rubbed forward and backward, working the soap into her body to make sure she was truely clean. Gunnar knew she was clean, but he was reliving the moments with his wife and his hand continued to massage at her flesh. Then he heard the noise she was making, and she had tears in her eyes. With a shake of his head, Gunnar moved his hands from between her thighs and to the outsides of her thighs, rubbing them down with soap as he worked lower still on her legs. For a few short moments, Gunnar was kneeling low in front of Brihanna, his face level with her loins as he worked on her feet, but then he stood up, straight in front of her.
Gunnar felt a little ashamed of what had just happend. Caught up in his memories, he had obviously scared Brihanna, as she stood there, soapy, trembling, and crying. He stood in front of her, flushed, aroused, soapy himself and angry at himself for letting himself get caught up. He looked down at her, as she looked down on his cock. Then she brought her eyes up to look into his, the fear evident, the tears silently rolling down her cheeks. Gunnar, so soon after the memories of his wife was still aroused and filled with lust, but he could not see it was Brihanna before him, and he felt for her. He had a measure of compasion in his eyes. Gunnar raised a hand and wiped the tears from Brihanna's cheeks, "I'm sorry," was all he could manage to Brihanna, as she stood, shivering and afraid in front of him.
Gunnar went back to the table and filled the basin with water again. He splashed the soap from his body and hair, before returning to Brihanna to do the same. Now he could see her pale flesh pink from the fresh scrubbing and red from the near constant blush she wore. Gunnar even took a moment to make sure all the soap from between Brihanna's legs was washed free. Then he stood and looked at her, both of them naked, himself chilled and her turning slightly blue once again. Gunnar picked up the bundle in one hand, then he reached out and took Brihanna's hand in the other. He walked her towards the door and she only tried to pull away once, but Gunnar easily kept hold of her hand in his meaty hand.
Gunnar led Brihanna into the entry room, just as a couple of women from the village entered the room Gunnar and Brihanna just occupied with several children in tow. Gunnar half led, half dragged Brihanna to another door, which when opened released a huge puff of steam into the room where they currently stood. Gunnar placed his bundle into a little wooden cubby hole to the side of the door, then he moved behind Brihanna and pushed the fearful woman into the room. It was very densly clouded in the room, and occasionally a loud hiss could be heard as someone added water to the heated stones in the center of the room. Gunnar placed a hand on either of Brihanna's shoulders and walked her across the room, between the dim outlines of many bodies. Some male, some female, some young children, some very elderly. Gunnar walked Brihanna a little ways until she was at a wooden bench, without anyone resting on it. He turned her so she faced away from the bench, and then he pushed down on her shoulders so she would sit down. With another movement, he had her laying down on the bench, resting in the hot steam of the sauna.
Gunnar moved himself, and laid down on the wide bench with Brihanna, their left sides touching as he could feel sweat springing to his skin under the effects of the steam. Another couple of movements and Gunnar had his arm under his own head, to pillow it from the bench and his other arm under Brihanna's head. The only other people inside of the sauna that the two of them could see were others that approached the bench merely to see if it was empty. Seeing it wasn't, they would turn and disappear back into the steam. Several low converstations could be heard in between the hissing bursts of steam off the hot stones, but it was generally a subdued environment.
Gunnar leaned up on his side, his arm still under Brihanna's head, but his other hand came to rest on her stomach lightly. Gunnar was still very much aroused, his cock pointing straight out from his loins and hung over Brihanna's thigh. Gunnar's eyes were looking into Brihanna's eyes, as his finger tips slowly moved around on the soft flesh of her stomach. He traced her navel, and the patch of light colored hair that started on her stomach and led down towards her loins. His fingers would occasionally slide up her body to her nipples, where he would circle them with his finger tip. Then his finger would trace the crease in her skin under her breasts, or the crease of her skin near the inside of her hips. Gunnar was happy to explore all the little spots of flesh that Brihanna had to offer, and he was obviously aroused. But he was moving slowly, as he didn't want to scare Brihanna. Not anymore than he had already scared her.
When Gunnar dropped his breeches to the floor in the bathing room, he couldn't help but notice the look on Brihanna's face. She looked surprised and some what curious. But when he took a step towards her, to remove the tunic she was wearing, she turned and pulled open the door. Gunnar stretched a long arm of his past her body and shut the door firmly. Then she turned around, her back was pressed to the door and he half leaned over her, a small smile on his face. "Why would she run from a bath," Gunnar thought to himself, as his eyes took in her eyes. "Emerald green," he said softly as she stared him in the face, a slight shiver running the course of her body.
He let his hand down from the door and rested it on her shoulder, pulling her away from the door and taking her to the center of the room. His grip and his prodding was gentle but insistant. He stood her in the center and motioned for her not to move, "Maybe if I show her, she will understand..." He turned and grabbed a huge basin of water and up ended it over his own head. He panted a moment, then he tossed his head back and shouted out at the sudden cold on his body. Shaking his head slightly to get the water from his hair and beard, his fingers wiping it from his eyes he looked to Brihanna, who was just confused.
Since she didn't seem to understand, Gunnar was going to teach by doing. He reached down and grabbed ahold of the bottom hem of the tunic, then pulled upwards. She however placed both her hands onto his and shoved downwards. "Stubborn," Gunnar thought as he gave her a warning glance. If she was going to stay in his home, she would be clean! She shook her head and stepped backwards, so that he lost his hold on the tunic hem. Gunnar stepped forward, and with a growled oath to Loki, he grabbed ahold of the tunic and jerked it up and off of her body. For a split second, Brihanna stood there with her arms over her head and a look of perfect surprise on her features. Then she blushed bright red down to her breasts and covered herself with her arms. But by the time her fear filled gaze landed on Gunnar again, he was facing away from her and filling another basin full of water. He turned, walked close to the blushing and confused Brihanna and dumped the water onto her head. Gunnar felt slightly sorry about dumping cold water on Brihanna, but he had a huge smile on his face when he did it the second time. Her gasps and stuttering was a fairly comical sight to Gunnar, who was used to it for having done this sort of thing for years.
Gunnar placed the basin on the table top, and looked back to Brihanna, only to receive a stare from her green eyes that would have curdled milk. Gunnar smiled back, he had a little more consistancy than milk did. Gunner looked to his packet on the table and picked up a cake of soap. Now the bathing proper began. When he looked back, Brihanna was again going towards the door, shivering as she moved and she apprently had forgotten her nudity. Gunnar reached out again, planted a hand on Brihanna's shoulder and spun her around to face him once more. He pulled her closer to him, and looked down at her. Trying to speak with his eyes, telling her not to try to leave again. So she folded her arms across her chest to cover her breasts and give her some measure of warmth, as she stood there shivering. And shooting daggers at Gunnar's form.
Gunnar took the soap between his palms and built up a large amount of lather which he then applied to his own body. He scrubbed himself first, his armpits, his chest, his legs, his feet, his loins. He took a little extra time on his hands and nails as well. Then, using the soap he lathered up his hair, until he stood there, mostly covered in bubbles of soap. "Your turn," Gunnar told Brihanna, as he held the soap out to her. She shook her head, he offered it again. She stared a defiant stare and shivered some more.
"You will be clean!" Gunnar growled as he reached out and took ahold of Brihanna's arm. He pulled her towards his and then slid his hand to her wrist, where he lifted both up over her head. Holding the soap in his other hand, he started to rub it up and down her arm, cleaning the part he held captive first. He felt her other hand shove his soap wielding hand away, but he just brought it back in, to finish lathering her up. He scrubbed her arm that was in the air, her underarm, down her side, across her back and buttocks and then he switched which arm he held up. He scrubbed the other side of her body, even taking time to clean her neck gently with his large meaty hands. Gunnar had started it as an exercise to demonstrate how one washed to Brihanna, but then he became aware of what he was doing. He was bathing a beautiful woman, something he and his past mate would do lovingly every night.
Gunnar released her arm, which she quickly snapped back to her side in a protetive gesture. But Gunnar's hands had set down the soap, now he was using the lather that already covered her body to wash her. He could hear her breathing changing as he stopped roughly trying to clean her, and gently explored her body under the guise of cleaning. His fingers splayed, his palms brushing against her flesh from time to time, he started to enjoy his hands touching her skins. Memories of previous times with his mate clouded his thoughts as he felt she freeze under his touch. Perhaps she was scare, or she had just as much desire as Gunnar, but he was exploring, content to feel every inch of her body with his sensative though calloused fingers.
Next Gunnar's hands found Brihanna's breasts, for the first time when he was awake and aware of it. He placed his palms over her breasts gently, his finger tips squeezing ever so lightly, then he moved his hands to the side, so his thumbs could rest on her nipples. He pressed them in towards her body lightly, then he placed his thumbs under them and dragged up over them, which he repeated as he moved his thumbs down over her nipples again. He could hear Brihanna's gasp and he looked up. He no longer saw the green eyes of Brihanna, but the blue eyes of his long dead wife. Gunnar's eyes were a jumble of emotions, sorrow, lust, and happyness. His eyes were moist, but if it was water or tears Brihanna couldn't tell. Gunnar was reliving one of the many nights when he would lovingly bathe his wife.
Seeing his wife in front of him, Gunnar brought Brihanna over closer to his body. His hands slowly leaving her breasts and moving to either side of her body. One hand moved down and rested on the gentle swell of her stomach, the other hand decended her back until it rested on her bottocks, holding tight to them. Gunnar however knew that all of his wife needed to be bathed, not just the parts that were easily seen, and as such he slid his hand from her stomach to her loins. For a moment he felt her thighs resisting his movement, but he still pressed past, ignoring the silent plea of quivering muscles. His fingers splayed across her nether lips and rubbed forward and backward, working the soap into her body to make sure she was truely clean. Gunnar knew she was clean, but he was reliving the moments with his wife and his hand continued to massage at her flesh. Then he heard the noise she was making, and she had tears in her eyes. With a shake of his head, Gunnar moved his hands from between her thighs and to the outsides of her thighs, rubbing them down with soap as he worked lower still on her legs. For a few short moments, Gunnar was kneeling low in front of Brihanna, his face level with her loins as he worked on her feet, but then he stood up, straight in front of her.
Gunnar felt a little ashamed of what had just happend. Caught up in his memories, he had obviously scared Brihanna, as she stood there, soapy, trembling, and crying. He stood in front of her, flushed, aroused, soapy himself and angry at himself for letting himself get caught up. He looked down at her, as she looked down on his cock. Then she brought her eyes up to look into his, the fear evident, the tears silently rolling down her cheeks. Gunnar, so soon after the memories of his wife was still aroused and filled with lust, but he could not see it was Brihanna before him, and he felt for her. He had a measure of compasion in his eyes. Gunnar raised a hand and wiped the tears from Brihanna's cheeks, "I'm sorry," was all he could manage to Brihanna, as she stood, shivering and afraid in front of him.
Gunnar went back to the table and filled the basin with water again. He splashed the soap from his body and hair, before returning to Brihanna to do the same. Now he could see her pale flesh pink from the fresh scrubbing and red from the near constant blush she wore. Gunnar even took a moment to make sure all the soap from between Brihanna's legs was washed free. Then he stood and looked at her, both of them naked, himself chilled and her turning slightly blue once again. Gunnar picked up the bundle in one hand, then he reached out and took Brihanna's hand in the other. He walked her towards the door and she only tried to pull away once, but Gunnar easily kept hold of her hand in his meaty hand.
Gunnar led Brihanna into the entry room, just as a couple of women from the village entered the room Gunnar and Brihanna just occupied with several children in tow. Gunnar half led, half dragged Brihanna to another door, which when opened released a huge puff of steam into the room where they currently stood. Gunnar placed his bundle into a little wooden cubby hole to the side of the door, then he moved behind Brihanna and pushed the fearful woman into the room. It was very densly clouded in the room, and occasionally a loud hiss could be heard as someone added water to the heated stones in the center of the room. Gunnar placed a hand on either of Brihanna's shoulders and walked her across the room, between the dim outlines of many bodies. Some male, some female, some young children, some very elderly. Gunnar walked Brihanna a little ways until she was at a wooden bench, without anyone resting on it. He turned her so she faced away from the bench, and then he pushed down on her shoulders so she would sit down. With another movement, he had her laying down on the bench, resting in the hot steam of the sauna.
Gunnar moved himself, and laid down on the wide bench with Brihanna, their left sides touching as he could feel sweat springing to his skin under the effects of the steam. Another couple of movements and Gunnar had his arm under his own head, to pillow it from the bench and his other arm under Brihanna's head. The only other people inside of the sauna that the two of them could see were others that approached the bench merely to see if it was empty. Seeing it wasn't, they would turn and disappear back into the steam. Several low converstations could be heard in between the hissing bursts of steam off the hot stones, but it was generally a subdued environment.
Gunnar leaned up on his side, his arm still under Brihanna's head, but his other hand came to rest on her stomach lightly. Gunnar was still very much aroused, his cock pointing straight out from his loins and hung over Brihanna's thigh. Gunnar's eyes were looking into Brihanna's eyes, as his finger tips slowly moved around on the soft flesh of her stomach. He traced her navel, and the patch of light colored hair that started on her stomach and led down towards her loins. His fingers would occasionally slide up her body to her nipples, where he would circle them with his finger tip. Then his finger would trace the crease in her skin under her breasts, or the crease of her skin near the inside of her hips. Gunnar was happy to explore all the little spots of flesh that Brihanna had to offer, and he was obviously aroused. But he was moving slowly, as he didn't want to scare Brihanna. Not anymore than he had already scared her.
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Rhovan
Weevil Genius
- Joined
- Apr 18, 2003
- Posts
- 1,411
Gunnar, Viking from the North
As Gunnar's hand roamed across the flesh of Brihanna's front, he lamented silently the fact that he could not express himself to her. He wanted to tell her she was beautiful, that she was the embodyment of all that was the beautiful form of a woman. But he couldn't, all he had was her name. And all she had was his. So he moved his hands around, but then she stopped his hand, her's holding his so he couldn't move it. She shook her head and whispered something, but Gunnar could not understand her. He shrugged, a confused look in his eye, but then he pressed against her and said, "Brihanna?" She shook her head again, and he heard his name, but he still did not know what she wished to impart to him. He did the only thing he could think of, he leaned over her and kissed her forehead. It was a poor substitute for everything he thought, but it would have to do. At the kiss, she stopped shaking her head, and she looked into his eyes, her own face full of confusion.
"Let us go home," Gunnar said softly, standing and helping Brihanna from the bench. He walked with her back out of the sauna, taking his package of stuff out of the cubby hole. He walked with Brihanna back into the first room, passing the group of mothers with their naked children running in little circles shouting and shrieking in their high voices. The mothers and kids quickly disappeared into the sauna, and Gunnar led Brihanna into the bath room. He set his package down and filled the basin with the cold water once more. He upended it over his own head, shaking his head roughly to throw off the extra beads of water. Then he re-filled the basin and lifted it over Brihanna's head. Gunnar thought it curious that she had yet to stop staring at his aroused state, so he dumped the water without warning onto her head. He heard her gasp, and Gunnar chuckled softly. He reached to the package and brought out a large peice of cloth, which her approached her with. He toweled down her body, starting with her hair, wringing as much water out and then passing the cloth over it. Then down her back and rump, across her breasts and stomach, her sides, her arms, her legs. Gunnar toweled himself off with the slightly damp cloth before replacing it in the package. Gunnar pulled out another item from the package and it was a tunic for Brihanna. She lifted her arms almost immediatly, and Gunnar brought it down over her, lacing it tight to try and keep it up and on her shoulders. He stuffed himself into a fresh pair of breeches and then he lifted the package from the table.
"We shall return home now Brihanna, to our home." He spoke with his hand out, a signal to have her come forward. He picked up her tiny hand in his large hand and walked with her out of the bathing lodge and towards his home, halfway down the hill. They moved much quicker down the hill than up it, and they were through the gate to Gunnar's door in a matter of moments. Pushing open the door, then dropping his hand to the dog's head, Gunnar entered his home. He saw Brihanna stop at the threshhold, and look around. Up the hill, then down the hill. She looked half ready to flee, so Gunnar stretched out a large hand and gently placed it flat on her back, propelling her inside. He shut the door and let the little simple latch fall into place. It was more for keeping the door shut in a stiff wind than keeping someone inside or outside of it. He turned from the door to see Brihanna standing in the center of the room, looking about as if to take stock. Gunnar moved to place things back where they went. Which is to say, all of his leather and mail armor was piled into an unused corner. His two axes were placed on pegs on the wall, within easy reach of the bed. They hung beside another axe and a spare shield. The shield he took was hung with the other, and his boots were kicked near to the cubby in the back that contained all of his clothes. On a side board that also served as Gunnar's pantry there was a few bowls, all very large, and some large spoons. The only knife in the room was a large butchering knife, stuck point down into the butcher block.
"Brihanna," Gunnar said, and she jumped a little at the sudden sound. She turned to look at him, he near the door, her near the center of the single room. Gunnar moved towards Brihanna, and she backed up. "Brihanna," Gunnar said again, his hand reaching out towards her body. She swatted his hand, but it still landed on her arm near her shoulder, his other arm moving to take the same place but on the other side of her body. She writhed in his hand, trying her best to get free of his grip, she suddenly looked terrified and she took a step back. Gunnar simply bent his arms at the elbow and brought her in close to him. "Gunnar, Gunnar.." She said, the rest of it lost in the language barrier. Gunnar was rapidly loosing himself to his desires, to the memories of his former mate. The agonizingly long time since he had been with a woman. He reached down, and with a hand on either side of the hem of her tunic, he lifted it up and over her in once motion. She hit him. Several times, striking at his chest in an attempt to drive him off. His hands immediatly found her wrists, forcing her arms to stop moving. He was going to do this. He had to. "Brihanna," he said in a warning tone, as she squirmed and fought, kicking and trying to swing her arms.
Gunnar released Brihanna for a moment, and she was shocked, thinking he was going to leave her alone. He however bent double, and lifted Brihanna bodily from the floor, taking the few steps to the bed and placed Brihanna in the center of a huge mound of furs. "Gunnar...Gunnar..." She was pleading, that much was clear. But Gunnar thought it was in desire, or need. Then she stopped moving. Frozen by the look of lust in his eyes. Gunnar's hands went to his breeches, unlacing them quickly and pushing them down to the floor. He stepped out of them and climbed onto the bed in the same motion, moving quickly across the furs to Brihanna before she could scramble away.
Gunnar laid himself on the furs next to her, his right hand on the center of her chest and pushing her into the furs. His cock was huge and erect, sticking ominiously from his waist as he leaned his head over and kissed Brihanna's lips. It started out just lips pressed together, but then his lips parted and his tongue came out, licking at her lips and feeling the slight cracks on them, then his tongue was between her lips, clashing against the wall of her teeth. His hand didn't wait for the kiss however. It slid down her chest and between her legs, his palm cupping her loins as he easily forces her legs apart with his hand. She gasped, and his tongue found entrance to her mouth. He could feel her trying her best to force his tongue out of her mouth, her hands struggling to get his hand from between her legs. His fingers were moving, teasing and doing their best to stimulate the terrified woman. But soon Gunnar tired of the sport, as Brihanna did not seem to appreciate his efforts. He moved and shifted, pulling furs from places and stuff furs into other places until Brihanna laid on the pile at a bit of an incline, her rump slightly higher than her head.
Gunnar moved, and having to stop a swing at his head and knee to his groin, quickly forced himself between Brihanna's thighs. His large hands went forward and caught her arms at the wrists, forcing them down into the furs. He crossed her wrists above her head and trapped them in the palm of his left hand. His right hand caught her chin and he pressed another kiss to her mouth, his eyes lustful but compassionate. Then he released her chin and his hand went between their bodies, taking ahold of his cock and lining himself up with her entrance. He could feel a light coating of wetness between her lips, but if that was from her excitement or the bathing, Gunnar could not have said. He lined himself up with Brihanna's entrance, then he lowered his mouth to her breast. He bit down, and he could hear her gasp in the sudden pain flaring out of her breast, then he thrust himself forward, burying himself inside of her body, feeling the resistance of her muscles and her maidenhead giving way under the pressure of his penis.
Gunnar paused then, holding his hips perfectly still, his mouth leaving Brihanna's breast and kissed her cheeks and forehead softly, trying to calm the now sobbing woman down. She trembled under his body, which was weaking Gunnar's resolve to wait until she was able to better handle it. The feeling of her tightening down on his cock, and the length of time since he had last had a woman took control of Gunnar's body. He started to thrust his hips forward and backward, his long cock driving in and out of Brihanna's body in long, quick strokes.
Unfortunatly, all of the stimulation, again coupled with the length since his last time was catching up to Gunnar. He could already feel his climax approaching rapidly, his balls pulling up tight to his body as he felt the seed in them boil in anticipation of a fertile womb. Gunnar thrust himself into her a dozen times, then another dozen before he finally tensed up, his cock buried as deeply into her body as he could make it go. His pelvis contracted and he felt the seed boil up out of his balls and spew out into her body in hot spurts of living giving release. Gunnar groaned loudly, the woman below him no longer struggling back against his grip on her arms or his cock impaled into her body. She just cried quietly, and felt the seed flowing into her body.
Gunnar groaned low in his throat, and rolled off of Brihanna. He shifted the furs around some more, until they both rested relativly flatly on the ropes under the furs. He looked over at Brihanna, the lust slowly dieing from his eyes. She wasn't his wife, she had never been his wife. Gunnar smiled and pressed his hand to her chest, high and away from her breasts where she always placed his hand. "Brihanna?"
As Gunnar's hand roamed across the flesh of Brihanna's front, he lamented silently the fact that he could not express himself to her. He wanted to tell her she was beautiful, that she was the embodyment of all that was the beautiful form of a woman. But he couldn't, all he had was her name. And all she had was his. So he moved his hands around, but then she stopped his hand, her's holding his so he couldn't move it. She shook her head and whispered something, but Gunnar could not understand her. He shrugged, a confused look in his eye, but then he pressed against her and said, "Brihanna?" She shook her head again, and he heard his name, but he still did not know what she wished to impart to him. He did the only thing he could think of, he leaned over her and kissed her forehead. It was a poor substitute for everything he thought, but it would have to do. At the kiss, she stopped shaking her head, and she looked into his eyes, her own face full of confusion.
"Let us go home," Gunnar said softly, standing and helping Brihanna from the bench. He walked with her back out of the sauna, taking his package of stuff out of the cubby hole. He walked with Brihanna back into the first room, passing the group of mothers with their naked children running in little circles shouting and shrieking in their high voices. The mothers and kids quickly disappeared into the sauna, and Gunnar led Brihanna into the bath room. He set his package down and filled the basin with the cold water once more. He upended it over his own head, shaking his head roughly to throw off the extra beads of water. Then he re-filled the basin and lifted it over Brihanna's head. Gunnar thought it curious that she had yet to stop staring at his aroused state, so he dumped the water without warning onto her head. He heard her gasp, and Gunnar chuckled softly. He reached to the package and brought out a large peice of cloth, which her approached her with. He toweled down her body, starting with her hair, wringing as much water out and then passing the cloth over it. Then down her back and rump, across her breasts and stomach, her sides, her arms, her legs. Gunnar toweled himself off with the slightly damp cloth before replacing it in the package. Gunnar pulled out another item from the package and it was a tunic for Brihanna. She lifted her arms almost immediatly, and Gunnar brought it down over her, lacing it tight to try and keep it up and on her shoulders. He stuffed himself into a fresh pair of breeches and then he lifted the package from the table.
"We shall return home now Brihanna, to our home." He spoke with his hand out, a signal to have her come forward. He picked up her tiny hand in his large hand and walked with her out of the bathing lodge and towards his home, halfway down the hill. They moved much quicker down the hill than up it, and they were through the gate to Gunnar's door in a matter of moments. Pushing open the door, then dropping his hand to the dog's head, Gunnar entered his home. He saw Brihanna stop at the threshhold, and look around. Up the hill, then down the hill. She looked half ready to flee, so Gunnar stretched out a large hand and gently placed it flat on her back, propelling her inside. He shut the door and let the little simple latch fall into place. It was more for keeping the door shut in a stiff wind than keeping someone inside or outside of it. He turned from the door to see Brihanna standing in the center of the room, looking about as if to take stock. Gunnar moved to place things back where they went. Which is to say, all of his leather and mail armor was piled into an unused corner. His two axes were placed on pegs on the wall, within easy reach of the bed. They hung beside another axe and a spare shield. The shield he took was hung with the other, and his boots were kicked near to the cubby in the back that contained all of his clothes. On a side board that also served as Gunnar's pantry there was a few bowls, all very large, and some large spoons. The only knife in the room was a large butchering knife, stuck point down into the butcher block.
"Brihanna," Gunnar said, and she jumped a little at the sudden sound. She turned to look at him, he near the door, her near the center of the single room. Gunnar moved towards Brihanna, and she backed up. "Brihanna," Gunnar said again, his hand reaching out towards her body. She swatted his hand, but it still landed on her arm near her shoulder, his other arm moving to take the same place but on the other side of her body. She writhed in his hand, trying her best to get free of his grip, she suddenly looked terrified and she took a step back. Gunnar simply bent his arms at the elbow and brought her in close to him. "Gunnar, Gunnar.." She said, the rest of it lost in the language barrier. Gunnar was rapidly loosing himself to his desires, to the memories of his former mate. The agonizingly long time since he had been with a woman. He reached down, and with a hand on either side of the hem of her tunic, he lifted it up and over her in once motion. She hit him. Several times, striking at his chest in an attempt to drive him off. His hands immediatly found her wrists, forcing her arms to stop moving. He was going to do this. He had to. "Brihanna," he said in a warning tone, as she squirmed and fought, kicking and trying to swing her arms.
Gunnar released Brihanna for a moment, and she was shocked, thinking he was going to leave her alone. He however bent double, and lifted Brihanna bodily from the floor, taking the few steps to the bed and placed Brihanna in the center of a huge mound of furs. "Gunnar...Gunnar..." She was pleading, that much was clear. But Gunnar thought it was in desire, or need. Then she stopped moving. Frozen by the look of lust in his eyes. Gunnar's hands went to his breeches, unlacing them quickly and pushing them down to the floor. He stepped out of them and climbed onto the bed in the same motion, moving quickly across the furs to Brihanna before she could scramble away.
Gunnar laid himself on the furs next to her, his right hand on the center of her chest and pushing her into the furs. His cock was huge and erect, sticking ominiously from his waist as he leaned his head over and kissed Brihanna's lips. It started out just lips pressed together, but then his lips parted and his tongue came out, licking at her lips and feeling the slight cracks on them, then his tongue was between her lips, clashing against the wall of her teeth. His hand didn't wait for the kiss however. It slid down her chest and between her legs, his palm cupping her loins as he easily forces her legs apart with his hand. She gasped, and his tongue found entrance to her mouth. He could feel her trying her best to force his tongue out of her mouth, her hands struggling to get his hand from between her legs. His fingers were moving, teasing and doing their best to stimulate the terrified woman. But soon Gunnar tired of the sport, as Brihanna did not seem to appreciate his efforts. He moved and shifted, pulling furs from places and stuff furs into other places until Brihanna laid on the pile at a bit of an incline, her rump slightly higher than her head.
Gunnar moved, and having to stop a swing at his head and knee to his groin, quickly forced himself between Brihanna's thighs. His large hands went forward and caught her arms at the wrists, forcing them down into the furs. He crossed her wrists above her head and trapped them in the palm of his left hand. His right hand caught her chin and he pressed another kiss to her mouth, his eyes lustful but compassionate. Then he released her chin and his hand went between their bodies, taking ahold of his cock and lining himself up with her entrance. He could feel a light coating of wetness between her lips, but if that was from her excitement or the bathing, Gunnar could not have said. He lined himself up with Brihanna's entrance, then he lowered his mouth to her breast. He bit down, and he could hear her gasp in the sudden pain flaring out of her breast, then he thrust himself forward, burying himself inside of her body, feeling the resistance of her muscles and her maidenhead giving way under the pressure of his penis.
Gunnar paused then, holding his hips perfectly still, his mouth leaving Brihanna's breast and kissed her cheeks and forehead softly, trying to calm the now sobbing woman down. She trembled under his body, which was weaking Gunnar's resolve to wait until she was able to better handle it. The feeling of her tightening down on his cock, and the length of time since he had last had a woman took control of Gunnar's body. He started to thrust his hips forward and backward, his long cock driving in and out of Brihanna's body in long, quick strokes.
Unfortunatly, all of the stimulation, again coupled with the length since his last time was catching up to Gunnar. He could already feel his climax approaching rapidly, his balls pulling up tight to his body as he felt the seed in them boil in anticipation of a fertile womb. Gunnar thrust himself into her a dozen times, then another dozen before he finally tensed up, his cock buried as deeply into her body as he could make it go. His pelvis contracted and he felt the seed boil up out of his balls and spew out into her body in hot spurts of living giving release. Gunnar groaned loudly, the woman below him no longer struggling back against his grip on her arms or his cock impaled into her body. She just cried quietly, and felt the seed flowing into her body.
Gunnar groaned low in his throat, and rolled off of Brihanna. He shifted the furs around some more, until they both rested relativly flatly on the ropes under the furs. He looked over at Brihanna, the lust slowly dieing from his eyes. She wasn't his wife, she had never been his wife. Gunnar smiled and pressed his hand to her chest, high and away from her breasts where she always placed his hand. "Brihanna?"
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Rhovan
Weevil Genius
- Joined
- Apr 18, 2003
- Posts
- 1,411
Gunnar, Viking from the North
Gunnar rolled off of Brihanna and laid on the furs, looking up at the ceiling of his little hut. He couldn't say what had come over him, to take Brihanna when she clearly didn't want to be taken. But he also knew for a fact that he would do it again. It was his nature, to sleep with the beautiful women that were a part of his life. And Brihanna was now a part of his life. His responsability. If she got hurt, he had to care for her, if she got in trouble he had to take the blame from her, if she caused trouble, he would have to take penance for her. She belonged to him in word and by law, though Gunnar could see that she didn't want to belong. And strangly, Gunnar felt a little hurt by that fact, but he pressed it down to the ball of sorrow that was his memories of his long dead wife and he instead found solace in the animalistic desire to have the woman before him. And he did, and he would again.
Gunnar pulled some furs and moved them, trying to make it more comfortable on the bed for the two of them. It didn't really work. He looked over at Brihanna, laying on the bed with her arms over her head and crossed at her wrists, her legs spread wide enough for Gunnar to fit between them. She cried softly, sobs racking her body from time to time. Gunnar watched her for awhile, but she didn't seem to want to do anything but lay there and cry. So Gunnar finally mustered up the courage to roll himself onto his side. His hand tentativly moving to lay on Brihanna's breast, where she always made him put it. "Brihanna?"
She rolled away from him, crying harder, the sobs easily audible now. Gunnar felt awful, but he didn't know what to do. His hand went from where it hung in the air when she rolled out from under it to her shoulder. She jerked her shoulder away and curled up, her knees to her chest and her arms around them, her head tucked tight to her knees. Gunnar sighed. She would probably never be the same, Gunnar assumed. He had destroyed the fight in her that he loved so dearly. The desire to understand and the utter beauty of the women. Gunnar rolled back to his back, his arms out to either of his sides as he sighed again. "Might as well sleep," He thought to himself. He could hear the ball of Brihanna crying wetly and sobbing noisly to his right.
Gunnar's eyes closed as he sought sleep. Then they snapped open. He lifted his head a little from the furs and looked down at his side. Brihanna had moved from her curled up ball, to Gunnar's side. Not only had she moved closer and without prompting, she clung to Gunnar. Her right leg was hooked around his right leg, as if to anchor her to his body, her right arm went clean across his broad torso to hook onto the other side of his body, holding her torso tight to his body. His arm again was pillowing Brihanna's head, as she pressed her face tight to his chest. So he brought his arm up, wrapping it around her back and holding her tightly to him. Her sobs were loosing strength, but she continued to cry against his chest. Gunnar could feel the tears on his skin, pooling slightly before running down his side.
Gunnar shifted himself slightly, sliding down as Brihanna moved up slightly, to bring them on the same level almost. Their mutual grip not getting any looser, in fact, tighting some as Brihanna thought Gunnar was trying to get away. Gunnar's left hand came up from his side, landing on Brihanna's wrist and sliding up the outside length of her arm before moving to her brow. He moved the sweat soaked hair off of her face, then his thumb gently brushed some of the tears from her cheeks, his voice soft. "I'm sorry Brihanna...I wish I had waited a little...just rest...relax...sleep....shhh.." Gunnar didn't know what to say. How could he consol a raped woman? His hand went to the soft expanse of hair, running thickly down her back and petted it. Well, he petted at first, but then he started to stroke the hair, from the top of her hair down her neck and to her back. Then he started over, brushing her hair over and over as she slowly started to calm down some. He could feel her breathing slowing, the tears not pooling on his side so quickly, her grip loosing as she drifted to sleep. In a few short minutes, Brihanna was asleep. Gunnar laid there for an period of time, clinging tightly to Brihanna's body. He relised he needed this as much as she did. Then Gunnar slept.
Several hours later, Gunnar woke, and was surprised to find Brihanna in the exact same position. She was exhausted, both phsyically and emotionally. But Gunnar knew that the way they were laying on the piled furs was going to cause them pains in the morning. So he set about doing something about it. He slipped deftly from Brihanna's sleep weakened grip. He lifted her easily in his arms, placing her limp form near the edge of the bed. Then he pulled the furs to the floor. He started laying them across the ropes quickly, covering the hemp ropes, then pillowing the area's where the most pressure would lay. The hips, the shoulders, the head. Gunnar pulled a thick bear fur from the pile and set it to the side. He lifted Brihanna again, and laid her out on the furs, watching her move gently and murmur in her sleep, as if she was seeking Gunnar's body. Gunnar quickly slid in beside Brihanna, pulling her tight to his side as he pulled the fur over their bodies. He leaned down, kissed Brihanna's forehead softly and then he drifted back to sleep, holding Brihanna close to him, and feeling her unconciously hugging him back for a moment.
Early in the morning of the next day, Gunnar awoke. The fire had burned low, and the room was cold again, though not as cold when they first arrived. Brihanna was still there, much to his surprise, and she still held tight to him with her leg and arm, which she apprently had replaced after he had drifted off the second time. Gunnar sighed softly, still a little hurt by the pain he had caused her yesterday. He slipped from her grip, bunching up a fur and sliding it under her arm and leg so she had something to hold on to. He picked up his breeches and quickly pulled them on, drawing the laces. Then he pulled on his boots and slipped out the door. Only to return several minutes later with a rabbit. He had a clutch of them up the hill a bit, off to one side. They made for a good meal so long as he didn't eat them to often. He would have to goto town today or tomorrow to get provisions for himself and Brihanna. Gunnar walked to the butcher block and stripped the rabbit in a few moments with precise and practised strokes. He tossed the organs out into the yard, where the dog immediatly set to it's breakfast. Gunnar laid the fur on the block and took the meat to a kettle hanging near the fire.
Slicing through the meat and dropping the chunks into the pot, Gunnar quickly had just a pile of bones. He took those outside, giving them to the little dog as well, which shook it's tail happily and rubbed against Gunnar's boots as he went to his nearest neighbour to borrow a few potato's, carrots and radishes, some salt and water. He brought all the supplies back with a promise to repay them later in the day and threw it all in the pot, before sliding it over the fire. Soon the room started to smell the good smells of a nice stew, a stew of rabbit meat. Gunnar walked back to the bed and looked down on Brihanna for a little while, then he knelt down next to the bed, and on a whim; leaned in and kissed Brihanna on the lips. She stirred a bit, and Gunnar brushed the hair from her eyes and kissed her lips softly again. When he pulled back, her eyes were opened, and where Gunnar expected stark raving terror, her eyes showed something else. Fear was still there, but it no longer seems all consuming. Gunnar placed his hand on her chest, to close to her breasts for her comfort, to see how she reacted. "Brihanna?" He said softly, the smell of food obvious in the little room.
Gunnar rolled off of Brihanna and laid on the furs, looking up at the ceiling of his little hut. He couldn't say what had come over him, to take Brihanna when she clearly didn't want to be taken. But he also knew for a fact that he would do it again. It was his nature, to sleep with the beautiful women that were a part of his life. And Brihanna was now a part of his life. His responsability. If she got hurt, he had to care for her, if she got in trouble he had to take the blame from her, if she caused trouble, he would have to take penance for her. She belonged to him in word and by law, though Gunnar could see that she didn't want to belong. And strangly, Gunnar felt a little hurt by that fact, but he pressed it down to the ball of sorrow that was his memories of his long dead wife and he instead found solace in the animalistic desire to have the woman before him. And he did, and he would again.
Gunnar pulled some furs and moved them, trying to make it more comfortable on the bed for the two of them. It didn't really work. He looked over at Brihanna, laying on the bed with her arms over her head and crossed at her wrists, her legs spread wide enough for Gunnar to fit between them. She cried softly, sobs racking her body from time to time. Gunnar watched her for awhile, but she didn't seem to want to do anything but lay there and cry. So Gunnar finally mustered up the courage to roll himself onto his side. His hand tentativly moving to lay on Brihanna's breast, where she always made him put it. "Brihanna?"
She rolled away from him, crying harder, the sobs easily audible now. Gunnar felt awful, but he didn't know what to do. His hand went from where it hung in the air when she rolled out from under it to her shoulder. She jerked her shoulder away and curled up, her knees to her chest and her arms around them, her head tucked tight to her knees. Gunnar sighed. She would probably never be the same, Gunnar assumed. He had destroyed the fight in her that he loved so dearly. The desire to understand and the utter beauty of the women. Gunnar rolled back to his back, his arms out to either of his sides as he sighed again. "Might as well sleep," He thought to himself. He could hear the ball of Brihanna crying wetly and sobbing noisly to his right.
Gunnar's eyes closed as he sought sleep. Then they snapped open. He lifted his head a little from the furs and looked down at his side. Brihanna had moved from her curled up ball, to Gunnar's side. Not only had she moved closer and without prompting, she clung to Gunnar. Her right leg was hooked around his right leg, as if to anchor her to his body, her right arm went clean across his broad torso to hook onto the other side of his body, holding her torso tight to his body. His arm again was pillowing Brihanna's head, as she pressed her face tight to his chest. So he brought his arm up, wrapping it around her back and holding her tightly to him. Her sobs were loosing strength, but she continued to cry against his chest. Gunnar could feel the tears on his skin, pooling slightly before running down his side.
Gunnar shifted himself slightly, sliding down as Brihanna moved up slightly, to bring them on the same level almost. Their mutual grip not getting any looser, in fact, tighting some as Brihanna thought Gunnar was trying to get away. Gunnar's left hand came up from his side, landing on Brihanna's wrist and sliding up the outside length of her arm before moving to her brow. He moved the sweat soaked hair off of her face, then his thumb gently brushed some of the tears from her cheeks, his voice soft. "I'm sorry Brihanna...I wish I had waited a little...just rest...relax...sleep....shhh.." Gunnar didn't know what to say. How could he consol a raped woman? His hand went to the soft expanse of hair, running thickly down her back and petted it. Well, he petted at first, but then he started to stroke the hair, from the top of her hair down her neck and to her back. Then he started over, brushing her hair over and over as she slowly started to calm down some. He could feel her breathing slowing, the tears not pooling on his side so quickly, her grip loosing as she drifted to sleep. In a few short minutes, Brihanna was asleep. Gunnar laid there for an period of time, clinging tightly to Brihanna's body. He relised he needed this as much as she did. Then Gunnar slept.
Several hours later, Gunnar woke, and was surprised to find Brihanna in the exact same position. She was exhausted, both phsyically and emotionally. But Gunnar knew that the way they were laying on the piled furs was going to cause them pains in the morning. So he set about doing something about it. He slipped deftly from Brihanna's sleep weakened grip. He lifted her easily in his arms, placing her limp form near the edge of the bed. Then he pulled the furs to the floor. He started laying them across the ropes quickly, covering the hemp ropes, then pillowing the area's where the most pressure would lay. The hips, the shoulders, the head. Gunnar pulled a thick bear fur from the pile and set it to the side. He lifted Brihanna again, and laid her out on the furs, watching her move gently and murmur in her sleep, as if she was seeking Gunnar's body. Gunnar quickly slid in beside Brihanna, pulling her tight to his side as he pulled the fur over their bodies. He leaned down, kissed Brihanna's forehead softly and then he drifted back to sleep, holding Brihanna close to him, and feeling her unconciously hugging him back for a moment.
Early in the morning of the next day, Gunnar awoke. The fire had burned low, and the room was cold again, though not as cold when they first arrived. Brihanna was still there, much to his surprise, and she still held tight to him with her leg and arm, which she apprently had replaced after he had drifted off the second time. Gunnar sighed softly, still a little hurt by the pain he had caused her yesterday. He slipped from her grip, bunching up a fur and sliding it under her arm and leg so she had something to hold on to. He picked up his breeches and quickly pulled them on, drawing the laces. Then he pulled on his boots and slipped out the door. Only to return several minutes later with a rabbit. He had a clutch of them up the hill a bit, off to one side. They made for a good meal so long as he didn't eat them to often. He would have to goto town today or tomorrow to get provisions for himself and Brihanna. Gunnar walked to the butcher block and stripped the rabbit in a few moments with precise and practised strokes. He tossed the organs out into the yard, where the dog immediatly set to it's breakfast. Gunnar laid the fur on the block and took the meat to a kettle hanging near the fire.
Slicing through the meat and dropping the chunks into the pot, Gunnar quickly had just a pile of bones. He took those outside, giving them to the little dog as well, which shook it's tail happily and rubbed against Gunnar's boots as he went to his nearest neighbour to borrow a few potato's, carrots and radishes, some salt and water. He brought all the supplies back with a promise to repay them later in the day and threw it all in the pot, before sliding it over the fire. Soon the room started to smell the good smells of a nice stew, a stew of rabbit meat. Gunnar walked back to the bed and looked down on Brihanna for a little while, then he knelt down next to the bed, and on a whim; leaned in and kissed Brihanna on the lips. She stirred a bit, and Gunnar brushed the hair from her eyes and kissed her lips softly again. When he pulled back, her eyes were opened, and where Gunnar expected stark raving terror, her eyes showed something else. Fear was still there, but it no longer seems all consuming. Gunnar placed his hand on her chest, to close to her breasts for her comfort, to see how she reacted. "Brihanna?" He said softly, the smell of food obvious in the little room.
Last edited:
Rhovan
Weevil Genius
- Joined
- Apr 18, 2003
- Posts
- 1,411
Gunnar, Viking from the North
Gunnar knelt next to the bed, the curious thought that perhaps Brihanna had lost her wit after last night. She was just laying there, not moving, staring at his face, and ignoring the hand that rested dangerously close to her breasts. Gunnar tried to hold out hope, she was too strong for this! She couldn't have broken, she was made of steel similar to any Viking! But she had softer edges, and wasn't nearly as brittle as those around her. Then he felt her hand touch his wrist, rather than see it move up. She shoved his hand upwards again, saying softly the only word they shared. "Brianna," it always puzzled him when she said that. He said it back, "Brihanna," exactly as she was saying it to him, yet she repeated it often as if to remind herself who she was. Gunnar smiled though, she was indeed strong. Perhaps stronger than anything Gunnar could possibly envision at this moment. Then her stomach gurgled, and Gunnar let out a breath he didn't know he was holding.
Gunnar moved away from the bed, she hadn't moved and he assumed it was because she was embarassed about her state. She was after all nude, and covered in the remains of their joining the night before. So Gunnar, in an attempt to be helpful turned and got a wash cloth he had previously prepaired. It was warm and wet, and when he returned to the bed, he jerked the fur off of Brihanna's body. It startled her, she she half curled away from Gunnar, fear obviously affecting her movements. Gunnar's brow collapsed, he hadn't ment to scare her, so he reached out and touched her hand softly. She lifted baleful eyes to Gunnar, who held out the wash cloth almost like a flag of surrender. She looked confused for a moment, so Gunnar reached over her and placed the cloth directly on her thigh, while his other hand worked to seperate her legs. She nodded and rolled to her back again, allowing Gunnar a measure of freer movement, but she still kept her legs chastly together. Gunnar set to the task with fervor, desireing to make Brihanna feel comfortable again, slowly prying her legs open so he could get at all the dried remains. He worked carefully, even going to rinse out his cloth and return to make sure she was truly clean. He cleaned her thighs and buttocks well, and did his best between her legs. He stopped before she got nervous about his intent again, and he placed the cloth back into the bucket he had pulled it from. He smiled at her, as she was now clean and had to feel at least somewhat better. He patted her thigh and she looked down at him as her legs pulled together.
Gunnar went to the bottom of the bed and pulled out another of his tunics. He held it up and she moved to the edge of the bed, a shy nod her only sign in response to the tunic. He lifted it up and she raised her arms automatically, without question; so Gunnar pulled it down over her head, making sure to not catch it on her face or hair, or to brush anything he thought she would get embarassed about. Gunnar moved in front of Brihanna, and tied the laces again, making sure the overlarge tunic wouldn't fall down her frame as she moved about. He could hear a change in her breathing, and he fully expected her to swing her fist into his head as he worked, but she just sat there, her feet moving slightly over the floor from the edge of the bed. Gunnar went to stand, but his eyes landed on her eyes before he made it to his feet. He loved looking into her eyes, with their exotic coloring, and their expressive nature. He could just stare for hours, and he found himself staring, but if he could pull himself away he didn't care to try. For a moment, the span of a few breaths, or a few rapid heartbeats, they held each others eyes in their own, speaking their own language to one another. But then the moment passed as these moments were want to do, and Gunnar made it to his feet. Gunnar offered his hand out to Brihanna, helping her stand next to the bed, the movement greeted by the loud growling of a stomach denighed for two days. Now that the terror had subsided some, she could again feel the hunger her body had been quietly demanding all along.
Brihanna moved to the pot, looking at the slowly burbling contents with a smile on her face. "Stew," Gunnar said, nodding to the pot. Brihanna turned and smiled, the fact that she didn't understand clearly present on her face. Gunnar moved about to make everything ready for their meal. He pulled two bowls from the shelf, both much larger than anything Brihanna would use for herself. He placed them on the table, along with the monstrious spoons, sized for the over large Viking and not the petite Gaelic woman. She would have to sip off of the spoon, in order to not make a pig of herself the spoons were so large. "These are bowls, and spoons.." Gunnar said, feeling foolish because he knew she knew what they were. He didn't know how to get her to really understand, until he got a sudden idea. He moved closer to Brihanna and placed his hand on her chest, smiling a wide smile when she automatically moved his hand up her body. "Brihanna," then he moved his hand to his own chest, "Gunnar," then he held up the spoon and placed his hand on it like he had with their chests. "Skjei."
Gunnar's smile went nearly round his head when she nodded at his actions. She repeated them quickly, naming herself, him and then the spoon. But when she touched the spoon, she merely placed her hand on the back of his, but despite that Gunnar knew she understood. She said the word herself, which was curious in her accent, but after only a little coaching, she was saying the word nearly as perfectly as anyone else in the village could say it. Of course she still had that accent that made the word hers, and drove Gunnar crazy. He didn't know why it drove him crazy, but he knew it to be endearing, and he wanted to hear her speak more. So he picked up a bowl, held it half way between them and said "Bolle." They said it back and forth several times until she had mastered that word too. Soon they were working their way around the little room, laughing and tossing the simple words back and forth to one another. "Bål…spisebord…stol…," they were having a good time now, but then Gunnar stopped next to the bed. He thought of the night before, when something wonderful went wrong. He lifted his eyes to Brihanna, who looked very shy of a sudden and softly said, "Seng." That was the first word Brihanna hadn't said back to him. They both looked at the other's feet for a few moments, wishing the levity of moments just past would come rushing back to them.
It did. In a gurgle. Brihanna's stomach was not so eaisly denighed, as they both heard it's angry protest at being put off again. "Lets eat," Gunnar said, pointing to the table and not even caring that Brihanna wouldn't understand him. Brihanna pulled out a chair and climbed into it, one of the chairs being smaller than the other and very comfortable for Brihanna. The seat had fur wrapped around it, and apprently some form of cushion to it. The other chair was strict and angular, with no fur or padding and large enough for Gunnar to find comfort in it. Gunnar set the steaming pot on the wooden table, and using his own spoon, filled Brihanna's bowl with a small serving, filling his own half full. The bowls really were huge, but Brihanna tucked in with such vigor, she hate two whole bowl fulls herself. Gunnar had another one himself, until the pot lay empty, with only the dregs that remained. He heard her say something, but the meaning was clear. He nodded and smiled and patted her hand where it rested on the table.
Gunnar sat back in his chair and looked at Brihanna. He really looked at her. She was beautiful, though her hair was awry, her face a little puffy from the crying she had engaged in the night before, the tunic hung lopsided and looked a little comical. She was pale, and he could tell she was uncomfortable, despite the padded seat. She looked out of sorts. Then she stood and picked up the bowls, looking to Gunnar with a question clearly written on her face. So Gunnar pulled a kettle of water from over the fire and poured it into a large basin before adding some soap with a quick flick of the razored edges knife that was resting on the block. He carefully wiped the soap from the blade and set it back down as Brihanna started to wash the dishes. Then Gunnar snagged up the dry cloth to dry the bowls and utinsels which seemed to surprise Brihanna quite a lot. He spoke softly as they worked together, and he offered some words to see if she could remember what they matched, or if she could name the item he held. She answered all the questions perfectly, and Gunnar thought again about the strength of this woman. Strength of body, of mind, of wit and of emotion. She was the quintisental Viking woman. It surpsied him, because she was a Gael.
Soon the two of them had the dishes done, and they stepped back to look at the clean items on the board. Gunnar absently took Brihanna's hands into the towel and dried them gently, making sure to catch the spots between her fingers as she watched him, another question on her face. He placed the rag so it could dry and then opened the pantry to see that he had no food. He looked to Brihanna and pointed to the cabnet. She shook her head, and he pointed again. She sighed, drooped her shoulders and moved forward to get into the pantry. Gunnar looked surprised and had to gently pull her shoulder to disuade her from getting into the cabnet, though she did look releived. He grabbed a bowl and pointed into it, then into the cabnet, then into the now empty wash basin, then into his mouth. He was trying to give her examples of empty. He set the bowl down, and put the rag in it. He made hand motions as if to say bad, then he emptied the bowl and made motions as to that. Eventually, after much work he got her to understand. It was empty.
Gunnar went to get his boots, pulling them on his feet. He looked to her feet and she looked to hers too. He couldn't have her walking around bare foot. Gunnar sighed and moved to a chest in the back of the house, which was until now overlooked. He opened it and dug through the clothing there coming back with a pair of soft, deer skin boots that were much smaller than his own feet. He offered them to Brihanna, who looked confused. He motioned to her to put them on, as he found some extra furs that could wear to keep warm. He was going to take her to the market and really introduce her to his life, his world, and his people.
Gunnar knelt next to the bed, the curious thought that perhaps Brihanna had lost her wit after last night. She was just laying there, not moving, staring at his face, and ignoring the hand that rested dangerously close to her breasts. Gunnar tried to hold out hope, she was too strong for this! She couldn't have broken, she was made of steel similar to any Viking! But she had softer edges, and wasn't nearly as brittle as those around her. Then he felt her hand touch his wrist, rather than see it move up. She shoved his hand upwards again, saying softly the only word they shared. "Brianna," it always puzzled him when she said that. He said it back, "Brihanna," exactly as she was saying it to him, yet she repeated it often as if to remind herself who she was. Gunnar smiled though, she was indeed strong. Perhaps stronger than anything Gunnar could possibly envision at this moment. Then her stomach gurgled, and Gunnar let out a breath he didn't know he was holding.
Gunnar moved away from the bed, she hadn't moved and he assumed it was because she was embarassed about her state. She was after all nude, and covered in the remains of their joining the night before. So Gunnar, in an attempt to be helpful turned and got a wash cloth he had previously prepaired. It was warm and wet, and when he returned to the bed, he jerked the fur off of Brihanna's body. It startled her, she she half curled away from Gunnar, fear obviously affecting her movements. Gunnar's brow collapsed, he hadn't ment to scare her, so he reached out and touched her hand softly. She lifted baleful eyes to Gunnar, who held out the wash cloth almost like a flag of surrender. She looked confused for a moment, so Gunnar reached over her and placed the cloth directly on her thigh, while his other hand worked to seperate her legs. She nodded and rolled to her back again, allowing Gunnar a measure of freer movement, but she still kept her legs chastly together. Gunnar set to the task with fervor, desireing to make Brihanna feel comfortable again, slowly prying her legs open so he could get at all the dried remains. He worked carefully, even going to rinse out his cloth and return to make sure she was truly clean. He cleaned her thighs and buttocks well, and did his best between her legs. He stopped before she got nervous about his intent again, and he placed the cloth back into the bucket he had pulled it from. He smiled at her, as she was now clean and had to feel at least somewhat better. He patted her thigh and she looked down at him as her legs pulled together.
Gunnar went to the bottom of the bed and pulled out another of his tunics. He held it up and she moved to the edge of the bed, a shy nod her only sign in response to the tunic. He lifted it up and she raised her arms automatically, without question; so Gunnar pulled it down over her head, making sure to not catch it on her face or hair, or to brush anything he thought she would get embarassed about. Gunnar moved in front of Brihanna, and tied the laces again, making sure the overlarge tunic wouldn't fall down her frame as she moved about. He could hear a change in her breathing, and he fully expected her to swing her fist into his head as he worked, but she just sat there, her feet moving slightly over the floor from the edge of the bed. Gunnar went to stand, but his eyes landed on her eyes before he made it to his feet. He loved looking into her eyes, with their exotic coloring, and their expressive nature. He could just stare for hours, and he found himself staring, but if he could pull himself away he didn't care to try. For a moment, the span of a few breaths, or a few rapid heartbeats, they held each others eyes in their own, speaking their own language to one another. But then the moment passed as these moments were want to do, and Gunnar made it to his feet. Gunnar offered his hand out to Brihanna, helping her stand next to the bed, the movement greeted by the loud growling of a stomach denighed for two days. Now that the terror had subsided some, she could again feel the hunger her body had been quietly demanding all along.
Brihanna moved to the pot, looking at the slowly burbling contents with a smile on her face. "Stew," Gunnar said, nodding to the pot. Brihanna turned and smiled, the fact that she didn't understand clearly present on her face. Gunnar moved about to make everything ready for their meal. He pulled two bowls from the shelf, both much larger than anything Brihanna would use for herself. He placed them on the table, along with the monstrious spoons, sized for the over large Viking and not the petite Gaelic woman. She would have to sip off of the spoon, in order to not make a pig of herself the spoons were so large. "These are bowls, and spoons.." Gunnar said, feeling foolish because he knew she knew what they were. He didn't know how to get her to really understand, until he got a sudden idea. He moved closer to Brihanna and placed his hand on her chest, smiling a wide smile when she automatically moved his hand up her body. "Brihanna," then he moved his hand to his own chest, "Gunnar," then he held up the spoon and placed his hand on it like he had with their chests. "Skjei."
Gunnar's smile went nearly round his head when she nodded at his actions. She repeated them quickly, naming herself, him and then the spoon. But when she touched the spoon, she merely placed her hand on the back of his, but despite that Gunnar knew she understood. She said the word herself, which was curious in her accent, but after only a little coaching, she was saying the word nearly as perfectly as anyone else in the village could say it. Of course she still had that accent that made the word hers, and drove Gunnar crazy. He didn't know why it drove him crazy, but he knew it to be endearing, and he wanted to hear her speak more. So he picked up a bowl, held it half way between them and said "Bolle." They said it back and forth several times until she had mastered that word too. Soon they were working their way around the little room, laughing and tossing the simple words back and forth to one another. "Bål…spisebord…stol…," they were having a good time now, but then Gunnar stopped next to the bed. He thought of the night before, when something wonderful went wrong. He lifted his eyes to Brihanna, who looked very shy of a sudden and softly said, "Seng." That was the first word Brihanna hadn't said back to him. They both looked at the other's feet for a few moments, wishing the levity of moments just past would come rushing back to them.
It did. In a gurgle. Brihanna's stomach was not so eaisly denighed, as they both heard it's angry protest at being put off again. "Lets eat," Gunnar said, pointing to the table and not even caring that Brihanna wouldn't understand him. Brihanna pulled out a chair and climbed into it, one of the chairs being smaller than the other and very comfortable for Brihanna. The seat had fur wrapped around it, and apprently some form of cushion to it. The other chair was strict and angular, with no fur or padding and large enough for Gunnar to find comfort in it. Gunnar set the steaming pot on the wooden table, and using his own spoon, filled Brihanna's bowl with a small serving, filling his own half full. The bowls really were huge, but Brihanna tucked in with such vigor, she hate two whole bowl fulls herself. Gunnar had another one himself, until the pot lay empty, with only the dregs that remained. He heard her say something, but the meaning was clear. He nodded and smiled and patted her hand where it rested on the table.
Gunnar sat back in his chair and looked at Brihanna. He really looked at her. She was beautiful, though her hair was awry, her face a little puffy from the crying she had engaged in the night before, the tunic hung lopsided and looked a little comical. She was pale, and he could tell she was uncomfortable, despite the padded seat. She looked out of sorts. Then she stood and picked up the bowls, looking to Gunnar with a question clearly written on her face. So Gunnar pulled a kettle of water from over the fire and poured it into a large basin before adding some soap with a quick flick of the razored edges knife that was resting on the block. He carefully wiped the soap from the blade and set it back down as Brihanna started to wash the dishes. Then Gunnar snagged up the dry cloth to dry the bowls and utinsels which seemed to surprise Brihanna quite a lot. He spoke softly as they worked together, and he offered some words to see if she could remember what they matched, or if she could name the item he held. She answered all the questions perfectly, and Gunnar thought again about the strength of this woman. Strength of body, of mind, of wit and of emotion. She was the quintisental Viking woman. It surpsied him, because she was a Gael.
Soon the two of them had the dishes done, and they stepped back to look at the clean items on the board. Gunnar absently took Brihanna's hands into the towel and dried them gently, making sure to catch the spots between her fingers as she watched him, another question on her face. He placed the rag so it could dry and then opened the pantry to see that he had no food. He looked to Brihanna and pointed to the cabnet. She shook her head, and he pointed again. She sighed, drooped her shoulders and moved forward to get into the pantry. Gunnar looked surprised and had to gently pull her shoulder to disuade her from getting into the cabnet, though she did look releived. He grabbed a bowl and pointed into it, then into the cabnet, then into the now empty wash basin, then into his mouth. He was trying to give her examples of empty. He set the bowl down, and put the rag in it. He made hand motions as if to say bad, then he emptied the bowl and made motions as to that. Eventually, after much work he got her to understand. It was empty.
Gunnar went to get his boots, pulling them on his feet. He looked to her feet and she looked to hers too. He couldn't have her walking around bare foot. Gunnar sighed and moved to a chest in the back of the house, which was until now overlooked. He opened it and dug through the clothing there coming back with a pair of soft, deer skin boots that were much smaller than his own feet. He offered them to Brihanna, who looked confused. He motioned to her to put them on, as he found some extra furs that could wear to keep warm. He was going to take her to the market and really introduce her to his life, his world, and his people.
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Rhovan
Weevil Genius
- Joined
- Apr 18, 2003
- Posts
- 1,411
Gunnar, Viking from the North
Gunnar looked at the boots he had just given Brihanna. They had belonged to his mate. They had great sentimental value. He was surprised really, he handed them over without even a second thought. That is until right now; but the only thought he had about it was that it was the proper thing to do. Brihanna needed some kind of protection for her feet to get to the market, but the only other shoes were at the market. They fit her feet very well, which also surprised Gunnar. She would most likely fit all of his mates things, but he wasn't sure if he was prepaired to give over all of the stuff to Brihanna. Now that he knew Brihanna could fit the shoes, there was no real need to buy new ones. She could just wear those shoes until they eventually wore out, and then Gunnar could buy or craft her another pair. Gunnar thought all of this as they moved down the path, heading off the hill and towards the market place. He stopped, as he always stopped when he decended the hill. He was in love with the view, which was one of the reasons he chose to live on the side of the hill instead of the floor of the valley.
Gunnar turned to point out the view to Brihanna, but she was staring at her feet as she walked. She didn't notice that Gunnar had stopped, nor did she look further ahead of her feet than where her next foot would land and this she walked straight into Gunnar. It was a down hill slope, and she had picked up a bit of speed on the way down, but Gunnar was like a stone, albeit it a little softer. His body didn't move away from the impact, but his hands immediatly went up and out to clasp Brihanna's arms to keep her from falling backwards onto her rump or forwards and past him and on down the hill. Laughing softly, and with a huge grin on his face, Gunnar forgot that Brihanna couldn't speak his language. He spoke, and she smiled, and neither of them questions or corrected that little fact.
Gunnar smiled down to Brihanna again, but now he moved himself and her so that they stood side by side. He leaned a bit in towards her, his large arm wrapping around her shoulders and his left arm pointing out straight. Straight at the view that he so dearly loved. A large lake settled in the saddle of two huge moutains. Both were covered in the green of pines and spruces and fur trees. Green the year round, on the whole of the moutains but the very tip which were capped in snow, and at the very base where the lake met the earth. The lake was connected by little rivers and streams and inlets that allowed the water of the sea to rush in at high tide, and receide at low tide, allowing for an interesting brackish environment when coupled with the spring below. Gunnar was suddenly distracted by Brihanna's words.
“It’s beautiful Gunnar, beautiful.”
Gunnar was struck by the words. He didn't know what they ment, but they seemed poignant and important at the exact same moment. The tone, the inflection, the obvious look of awe in her eyes brought a feeling of pride to Gunnar's heart. He hadn't done anything to make this sight a possibility outside of stopping Brihanna to look at it. And of course kidnapping her to bring her here and see it. "B...beu..." Gunnar shook his head and smiled. He was unable to get the word out so as to make it understood. He wasn't used to the more flowing sounds of the Gaelic language, and he had only heard the word twice and still didn't know the meaning. He shrugged in mute appeal to Brihanna, who seemed to understand the question immediatly.
Then Brihanna started the process the two of them had used many times before, and would probably end up using many times again. She lifted a foot and pointed to her boot. "Beautiful, she said. Then she snatched up a small flower from beside the path and stuffed it unceremoniously under Gunnar's nose, "Beautiful." Gunnar at first wasn't sure what she ment, but with her rapid pointing out of those things that were pretty, he finally relised what she ment. "Vakker," Gunnar said while nodding. She was saying beautiful in her own language. but Gunnar had now lost track of what she was talking about other than the word beautiful. So Gunnar looked to Brihanna as if to ask her what they were calling beautiful. But Gunnar had found something beautiful, and she was standing there, in front of him, looking him square in the eye for a moment...two...three but then she turned and looked back to the boots. Using his slightly less limited ability to communicate to Brihanna, he peiced together the first real sentence he ever spoke to her. "Brihanna vakker..." but she kept her eyes down, and Gunnar felt a little crushed. She didn't smile or blush or anything, she just looked down. "What was I expecting?" Gunnar thought to himself, a little angry at himself for letting his feelings get hurt. "I kidnap her, kill her fellow man, then rape her and I expect her to be happy with me..." Gunnar moved forward and wrapped his hand around Brihanna's, ready to get into town so he could run from the spot where he made a fool of himself. He doubted he would ever stop on the same spot in the path again.
They moved quickly now that Brihanna didn't insist on staring at her shoes, and Gunnar was more than happy to let the scenery go by unseen so long as he could keep some measure of his dignity together. He silently cursed himself a fool for thinking she could ever care what he had to say as they moved to the center of the village market. His thoughts were soon lost in the bustle and activity going on in the area. It was good to be home, even if raiding was all true male vikings calling. Gunnar finally felt at home again. As they moved about, Gunnar could feel Brihanna walking closer to him, staying near to his side as if she were afraid she would loose him, or be accosted in the street. Gunnar paid it little mind, as he had to respond to the men shouting to him lest he be rude. The men were from the raiding party, but they no longer looked like the blood thirsty heathens that had landed on Brihanna's shores. Now they were simple men, at or going about their work as the family men they were. No thoughts of raiding were on their minds, nor was it on Gunnar's. They shouted as if the three men were wood cutters together, and not savage raiders.
Then the inevitable passel of children arrived. All the kids of the village, either sex and all manner of ages were represented. They rushed out of their houses in the morning to meet their friends and play light heartedly in the streets of the village proper. It kept them out of their mother's hair as they worked in the home, and it kept the kids within an easy and safe distance of the adults of town. As they say, it takes a village to raise a child. Even more true when it is roughly 15 children. Gunnar waded into the crowd, lifting a child here, or laughing uproariously with another one. Gunnar had always loved children, but even moreso after having his own child lost to him. It was an even more crushing blow that he lost his child and his mate in the same day, and even the midwife and the priests hadn't been able to say why. So Gunnar acted like a friendly uncle to all the children, offering advice or little sweets when he had them. But then the children caught site of Brihanna, standing where she was when he took the steps away from her and into the center of the children. The kids pointed and a girl laughed. Gunnar saw Brihanna color in shame and embarassment, then she turned on her heel while he hands straightened the neck line of the too large tunic as best she could. She stalked away from the crowd and Gunnar paused long enough only to admonish the children, cast them a smile and then rush after Brihanna; the children parting before him like a low wave. The kids watched interestedly as Gunnar caught up to Brihanna and caught ahold of her hand, turning her to face him.
"No Brihanna, the children didn't mean to embarass you. They were just caught up in the excitement of...'' Gunnar trailed off, knowing full well that she didn't understand much after her own name. Gunnar's hand reached up and brushed the welling tears from Brihanna's eyes. Then he smiled softly, patted her hand affectionatly and walked with her back into the market. She didn't seem to happy but after a half dozen steps she started to keep up, more to releave the pressure on her arm than to make Gunnar happy. The children again spread out like a wave to let Gunnar and Brihanna move through their cluster, and not a one of them laughed on her way through.
Unfortunatly, that reaction wasn't limited to the children. Most of the men knew well enough to avoid causing any trouble for Brihanna, having been there first hand to see what Gunnar did to Ragnar in a fit of jealous passion. They however thought it a matter of principal. You just don't touch another man's stuff. But some of the other men, who wern't present at the raid for sundry reasons didn't have the good luck of that bit of wisdom. In fact, one man looked at Brihanna with obvious hate in his eyes, his thoughts plainly read on his face. "She is a slave, why does she walk here among us." However, the man's angry and dark stare quickly found somewhere else to lie when Gunnar's gaze landed on him, just as dark and angry. Once his gaze was averted, Gunnar's face softened and he took the simple please of walking hand in hand with Brihanna through his beloved town marketplace. He was unaware of her little show of pride.
Purchasing a large basket to hold all of the goods, Gunnar handed it to Brihanna. They moved through the stalls that Gunnar remembered so well and so fondly. He bartered and haggled on the price of cheese, grain, mead, sugar, salt and pepper. He got some cloth, some furs and pelts and even a paired goose and gander. Gunnar also got a measure of meat, which he knew he'd have to come down to the market every other day to replace. Gunnar moved with an unfettered speed, before he relised that the slight puffs of air he kept hearing was Brihanna's labored breathing from the much to heavy basket. Gunnar smiled apologetically and lifted the basket from her arms with little effort. A quick motion with his head and the odd pair were on their way back up the side of the hill towards Gunnar's home.
After entering Gunnar's home, the pair quickly emptied the basket into the pantry and the cupboard and onto the little shelf over the butcher block. Gunnar took the time to point out where everything was, so Brihanna could find it again later. When they were finished, Brihanna sat down into her chair and relaxed, having just been through quite a bit of work. Gunnar silently sliced off some cheese from the wheel and rolled it up onto it's now flat side, so it was out of the way of the rest of the counter space. Gunnar gave the first slice to Brihanna and quickly chewed through his own slice, offering her some of the milk he had purchased in the market. Gunnar used the time of relaxation to continue to drill Brihanna on the words he was attempting to teach her. No better way to learn than by doing, and so Gunnar tought. It quickly became a good time between them, their smiles and laughs coming easily and often between the two of them.
Then she touched his lips. It was a singularly curious movement, that not many people would make, least of all to a towering and imposing figure like Gunnar. It reminded him of how his mate used to tug lightly on his beard, as if she didn't believe it to be attached to his face. Gunnar's brow knit and his eyes darkened, first at the remembered pain of the loss of his mate, and then at the edge of lust brought up remembering the last time a woman had come willingly into his bed. Gunnar suddenly felt hot and ashamed. Very ashamed. She spoke softly, and in obvious question, but aside from his name, he didn't know what she said, but she kept touching his lips softly. But when their eyes met, her hand shot to her side, and he could see the levity leaving her in a rush, only to be dogged on it's heels by fear and apprehension. And a shame so thick, Gunnar himself could feel it. Her head drooped, and Gunnar's heart cried out to her. He stepped forward, his words soft. "Brihanna..." but she moved backward. Gunnar let out a heavy breath and thought to himself, "Work...I'll go cut fire wood and take my mind off of this..." So he turned and hefted a wood axe from the wall, near to his battle axes.
"Follow me Brihanna, we will need fire wood for the coming winter." Gunnar swung his empty hand and nodded with his head in the direction they needed to travel. She froze for a moment, deep in thought, but she followed quickly enough, no outward sign to match her inward brewing. Gunnar turned to move up the hill, the axe casually held over his shoulder. He took half a dozen steps until he relised she had stopped, so he turned assuming she would have a question about something or other. He was greeted with a most curious sight. She had sat down in the middle of his yard to remove the boots he had given her that very morning. Gunnar moved back towards her, and watched her unlace her boots. He knelt down on the balls of his feet and touched her hands, to stop her removal of the boots. "She doesn't like my gift..." Gunnar thought to himself quietly. She paused, and he set his axe down, then quietly and gently relaced and tied the boots on Brihanna's feet. He took hold of her hands, and standing, he helped her to her feet, even when she didn't seem to want to be helped. They stood for a second, looking at one another -- then Gunnar hefted his axe, motioned with his head and set off up the hill again.
They moved up the hill, over the crest with the bathhouse and down the opposite side. Gunnar was looking about and eventually found exactly what he was looking for. A small wheel barrow. He set his axe inside the wheel barrow, and hefted the two poles with his hands, dragging it along behind himself as they continued their decent towards a the edge of a forest, hidden from sight to the village by the hill. Gunnar led the cart and Brihanna into a copse set a little ways from the edge of the forest. He released his grip on the cart and peered at the trees intently, each in turn. It was an odd course of action, but Brihanna was caught up in her thoughts and Gunnar worked busily along. Finally he found the exact tree he wanted, and he went back to the cart to lift his axe. Moving to the tree, Gunnar kicked some small stones and loose twigs from where he stood. He braced his feet, hefted his axe over his shoulder and brought it round in a dazzling arc that buried the head of the axe several inches into the tree and left Gunnar's arms just a trace numb from the shock. A powerful jerk and the blade was free, but only for a few moments as it arced slightly downward this time, a large chunk of wood flipping away from where Gunnar stood. Gunnar continued to swing the axe at the tree, his right hand rising and falling on the haft of the tool, his left arm there to continue the powerful swing of the heavy axe head. Gunnar stopped a moment and leaned the axe against the tree. His left hand passed across his brow to move the sweat off of his skin, while his right hand reached down, caught up the edge of his tunic and pulled it over his head in a single movement. He tossed the tunic absent mindedly over his shoulder and it landed on a bush, almost as if Gunnar had ment to do that. He lifted the axe again, planted his feet, and started to swing again.
Gunnar continued to work on felling the tree and was surpised when Brihanna seemed to rouse herself from her semi-stupor state and start to explore amongst the trees. From time to time she would bend down and grab up a plant or root or bulb and place it in the front of her tunic. She disappeared from sight several times, but Gunnar didn't believe she would run away. Besides, where would she run too? Then Gunnar was through the tree, shouting out a warning to anyone who might be nearby as it slowly tipped, then gathered speed and crash to earth. Gunnar merely moved beside the now fallen tree, planted his feet and started to seperate the tree into smaller logs, which he could split once he got them back to his hut. Gunnar was even more surprised, and pleasently so when Brihanna started to pick up the logs he had seperated and placed them into the wheel barrow. Gunnar grinned, Brihanna smiled in response and they continued to work, in relative silence.
They spent the remainder of the day in the copse of trees. Gunnar splitting the large tree into smaller logs, while Brihanna filled the wheel barrow. Then Gunnar would wheel it back to the house and the pair would unload it, only to return to the felled tree and start the process over again. On one of the trips, though Gunnar wouldn't have been able to say which, the dog accompanied them, dashing about with Brihanna like the two had been raised together. He was an unassuming mutt, and she was a kindly woman; and they got along as well as any two could. He was more curious about the plants and such she brought back with her every time. There was quite the pile on the butcher block in the hut, as the woods hadn't been combed for herbs and such like that had back in Brihanna's homeland. Soon the sun was retreating across the sky, to rest for it's blazing path in the morning.
Gunnar worked on, and he could see Brihanna was tired. She moved slower, but gamly tried to pull her own weight, as Gunnar slowly but surly assumed the better part of the work. He didn't mind though, he would have been just as happy to leave her at his hut, but he feared for her, and for what she might do if she paniced or decided to run away. Gunnar shruged away the thoughts and snagged up his tunic from the bush. He wiped it across himself, gathering up his sweat so he could have some measure of comfort prior to his bath. Collecting his dog, Brihanna, her last tiny bunch of herbs and the last of the wood, Gunnar started back to his hut with everything. When they made the short trip, Gunnar left the barrow in his yard, the dog and herbs in the hut and came out with the same package he had the night before. He gently took Brihanna's hand and lead her towards the bath house, so they could clean after the long day of work.
He lead her up and into the bathing room, with it's now familiar basins of cold rain water and the empty basin used to wash with. Gunnar filled it to brimming with the water and stripped his dirty clothing off, tucking it into the package. He turned to Brihanna who was leaning against a wall, dozing quietly and Gunnar smiled. He patted her cheek softly until she woke up, and then he pulled the tunic from her. Even as tired as she was, she still felt the shame and embarassment well up from her stomach and spread across her neck and upper breasts, though it was muted this time. From her being tired, or just growing accostumed to it, she couldn't say. She leaned against the wall again and in moments, was dozing off. So Gunnar threw the basin of water at her, which had the sudden and immediate effect of waking Brihanna up and sending her a half foot into the air in surprise. Gunnar offered up the chunk of soap to Brihanna for her to bath with, but she shook her head, clinging stubbornly to the idea that bathing was sinful.
Gunnar shrugged, and came forward, a hand gripping Brihanna not ungently but firmly holding her in place, and he bathed her like he had the night before. It started out strict and officious, but ended in soft caresses and lingering glances at Brihanna's body. Gunnar couldn't help himself with Brihanna, and he softly spoke, "Vakker." He looked up at her, and saw that she again refused to meet his eyes and he moved away, his hands soapy from his washing her, and so he quickly washed himself. He was surprised to find himself erect, and he knew he needed to do something about it. Filling the basin with water again, he led the now clean yet sputtering Brihanna into the fog of steam inside the sauna. It again held a large number of people in it, though less than the last time they were there because it was moving rapidly towards late night. Gunnar found a bench and Brihanna promptly laid herself out on it, the shock of the cold water slowly wearing off of her, only to be replaced by the utter tiredness she felt. Gunnar laid next to her, but this time he kept his hands to himself, knowing how much it disgusted her when he did it. She only ever showed him tears and shame and embarassment, and he continued to force it onto her. But he was lonely, so very lonely, and so very smitted by her looks, her eyes, the gentle swell of his hips...
Gunnar listened to the soft breathing of Brihanna's sleeping form. He sat up, and looked down at her, laying on her back, relaxed despite the nervousness he knew she felt about being naked in front of a bunch of people. Gunnar stood slowly and checked to make sure she was still asleep, then he moved up and away across the next bench and onto the one after that. He could see nothing now except for the billowing clouds of white steam that surrounded him in their delicious warmth, easing the pain from his arms and back and shoulders and legs. It however didn't ease the tenison in his groin. Gunnar looked down at his erect cock, which was still firmly thinking about the naked form of Brihanna. Gunnar stretched his legs out on the bench, and relaxed backward, his right hand moving to lay on his thigh, his thumb toying lightly with the top of his shaft.
Gunnar's eyes closed, and he moaned very softly, his hand slowly moving to encircle his shaft and move slowly up and down. Gunnar's mind raced through the thoughts of Brihanna, most of them she was clothed for, and it was a coy glance, or the fall of her hair on her cheek that really got Gunnar aroused. Of course images of her naked flashed through his mind, but they were short flashes as she was rarly able to have a good time when she was naked, and Gunnar didn't want to remember all the pain and dismay he had caused Brihanna. His right hand started to move faster, up and down his cock as he contiued to think about Brihanna, his left arm hanging limply off the side of the bench. Gunnar didn't relise it, but he didn't think of his past mate once, and she was the only person he ever thought about when he took certain matters into his own hands.
Gunnar shifted a bit on the bench as his right hand continued to massage his cock, his left hand slowly moving up and forward to caress his balls, his hips thrusting unconciously up at the feeling. Gunnar was rapidly approaching his climax, the climax his body needs so very much if Gunnar was going to keep his hands and more importantly his cock off of and out of Brihanna. She didn't want his touch, even the contact of his eyes on her made her drop her face in revulsion, and Gunnar didn't want to put her though that. He growled as he felt the waves of pleasure rush across his body, centered on and flowing out of his groin. His hips pumped in perfect countertime to the movement of his hand and it was only moments before the cum, boiling in his balls came rushing out in a hot wet gush and up into the air.
Gunnar's seed landed on the floor, on his chest, on the bench; such was the force of his pent up passions. His hand had stilled it's movement, but his hips continued to hump up into the air as his chest and shoulders slowly relaxed. Gunnar sighed in post orgasmic bliss, his cock not quite so insistant or hard. But Gunnar needed to get cleaned up, so he stood from the bench, smiling at the little spatteds of cum which he obliterated under his heel, then he made his way back to the washing room. He rinsed himself off and came back to the bench where he had left Brihanna, looking down on the sleeping woman. He laid out beside her and closed his eyes, relaxing in the hot steam after yet another cold bath.
The only thought that never crossed Gunnar's mind was -- Brihanna was still awake.
Gunnar looked at the boots he had just given Brihanna. They had belonged to his mate. They had great sentimental value. He was surprised really, he handed them over without even a second thought. That is until right now; but the only thought he had about it was that it was the proper thing to do. Brihanna needed some kind of protection for her feet to get to the market, but the only other shoes were at the market. They fit her feet very well, which also surprised Gunnar. She would most likely fit all of his mates things, but he wasn't sure if he was prepaired to give over all of the stuff to Brihanna. Now that he knew Brihanna could fit the shoes, there was no real need to buy new ones. She could just wear those shoes until they eventually wore out, and then Gunnar could buy or craft her another pair. Gunnar thought all of this as they moved down the path, heading off the hill and towards the market place. He stopped, as he always stopped when he decended the hill. He was in love with the view, which was one of the reasons he chose to live on the side of the hill instead of the floor of the valley.
Gunnar turned to point out the view to Brihanna, but she was staring at her feet as she walked. She didn't notice that Gunnar had stopped, nor did she look further ahead of her feet than where her next foot would land and this she walked straight into Gunnar. It was a down hill slope, and she had picked up a bit of speed on the way down, but Gunnar was like a stone, albeit it a little softer. His body didn't move away from the impact, but his hands immediatly went up and out to clasp Brihanna's arms to keep her from falling backwards onto her rump or forwards and past him and on down the hill. Laughing softly, and with a huge grin on his face, Gunnar forgot that Brihanna couldn't speak his language. He spoke, and she smiled, and neither of them questions or corrected that little fact.
Gunnar smiled down to Brihanna again, but now he moved himself and her so that they stood side by side. He leaned a bit in towards her, his large arm wrapping around her shoulders and his left arm pointing out straight. Straight at the view that he so dearly loved. A large lake settled in the saddle of two huge moutains. Both were covered in the green of pines and spruces and fur trees. Green the year round, on the whole of the moutains but the very tip which were capped in snow, and at the very base where the lake met the earth. The lake was connected by little rivers and streams and inlets that allowed the water of the sea to rush in at high tide, and receide at low tide, allowing for an interesting brackish environment when coupled with the spring below. Gunnar was suddenly distracted by Brihanna's words.
“It’s beautiful Gunnar, beautiful.”
Gunnar was struck by the words. He didn't know what they ment, but they seemed poignant and important at the exact same moment. The tone, the inflection, the obvious look of awe in her eyes brought a feeling of pride to Gunnar's heart. He hadn't done anything to make this sight a possibility outside of stopping Brihanna to look at it. And of course kidnapping her to bring her here and see it. "B...beu..." Gunnar shook his head and smiled. He was unable to get the word out so as to make it understood. He wasn't used to the more flowing sounds of the Gaelic language, and he had only heard the word twice and still didn't know the meaning. He shrugged in mute appeal to Brihanna, who seemed to understand the question immediatly.
Then Brihanna started the process the two of them had used many times before, and would probably end up using many times again. She lifted a foot and pointed to her boot. "Beautiful, she said. Then she snatched up a small flower from beside the path and stuffed it unceremoniously under Gunnar's nose, "Beautiful." Gunnar at first wasn't sure what she ment, but with her rapid pointing out of those things that were pretty, he finally relised what she ment. "Vakker," Gunnar said while nodding. She was saying beautiful in her own language. but Gunnar had now lost track of what she was talking about other than the word beautiful. So Gunnar looked to Brihanna as if to ask her what they were calling beautiful. But Gunnar had found something beautiful, and she was standing there, in front of him, looking him square in the eye for a moment...two...three but then she turned and looked back to the boots. Using his slightly less limited ability to communicate to Brihanna, he peiced together the first real sentence he ever spoke to her. "Brihanna vakker..." but she kept her eyes down, and Gunnar felt a little crushed. She didn't smile or blush or anything, she just looked down. "What was I expecting?" Gunnar thought to himself, a little angry at himself for letting his feelings get hurt. "I kidnap her, kill her fellow man, then rape her and I expect her to be happy with me..." Gunnar moved forward and wrapped his hand around Brihanna's, ready to get into town so he could run from the spot where he made a fool of himself. He doubted he would ever stop on the same spot in the path again.
They moved quickly now that Brihanna didn't insist on staring at her shoes, and Gunnar was more than happy to let the scenery go by unseen so long as he could keep some measure of his dignity together. He silently cursed himself a fool for thinking she could ever care what he had to say as they moved to the center of the village market. His thoughts were soon lost in the bustle and activity going on in the area. It was good to be home, even if raiding was all true male vikings calling. Gunnar finally felt at home again. As they moved about, Gunnar could feel Brihanna walking closer to him, staying near to his side as if she were afraid she would loose him, or be accosted in the street. Gunnar paid it little mind, as he had to respond to the men shouting to him lest he be rude. The men were from the raiding party, but they no longer looked like the blood thirsty heathens that had landed on Brihanna's shores. Now they were simple men, at or going about their work as the family men they were. No thoughts of raiding were on their minds, nor was it on Gunnar's. They shouted as if the three men were wood cutters together, and not savage raiders.
Then the inevitable passel of children arrived. All the kids of the village, either sex and all manner of ages were represented. They rushed out of their houses in the morning to meet their friends and play light heartedly in the streets of the village proper. It kept them out of their mother's hair as they worked in the home, and it kept the kids within an easy and safe distance of the adults of town. As they say, it takes a village to raise a child. Even more true when it is roughly 15 children. Gunnar waded into the crowd, lifting a child here, or laughing uproariously with another one. Gunnar had always loved children, but even moreso after having his own child lost to him. It was an even more crushing blow that he lost his child and his mate in the same day, and even the midwife and the priests hadn't been able to say why. So Gunnar acted like a friendly uncle to all the children, offering advice or little sweets when he had them. But then the children caught site of Brihanna, standing where she was when he took the steps away from her and into the center of the children. The kids pointed and a girl laughed. Gunnar saw Brihanna color in shame and embarassment, then she turned on her heel while he hands straightened the neck line of the too large tunic as best she could. She stalked away from the crowd and Gunnar paused long enough only to admonish the children, cast them a smile and then rush after Brihanna; the children parting before him like a low wave. The kids watched interestedly as Gunnar caught up to Brihanna and caught ahold of her hand, turning her to face him.
"No Brihanna, the children didn't mean to embarass you. They were just caught up in the excitement of...'' Gunnar trailed off, knowing full well that she didn't understand much after her own name. Gunnar's hand reached up and brushed the welling tears from Brihanna's eyes. Then he smiled softly, patted her hand affectionatly and walked with her back into the market. She didn't seem to happy but after a half dozen steps she started to keep up, more to releave the pressure on her arm than to make Gunnar happy. The children again spread out like a wave to let Gunnar and Brihanna move through their cluster, and not a one of them laughed on her way through.
Unfortunatly, that reaction wasn't limited to the children. Most of the men knew well enough to avoid causing any trouble for Brihanna, having been there first hand to see what Gunnar did to Ragnar in a fit of jealous passion. They however thought it a matter of principal. You just don't touch another man's stuff. But some of the other men, who wern't present at the raid for sundry reasons didn't have the good luck of that bit of wisdom. In fact, one man looked at Brihanna with obvious hate in his eyes, his thoughts plainly read on his face. "She is a slave, why does she walk here among us." However, the man's angry and dark stare quickly found somewhere else to lie when Gunnar's gaze landed on him, just as dark and angry. Once his gaze was averted, Gunnar's face softened and he took the simple please of walking hand in hand with Brihanna through his beloved town marketplace. He was unaware of her little show of pride.
Purchasing a large basket to hold all of the goods, Gunnar handed it to Brihanna. They moved through the stalls that Gunnar remembered so well and so fondly. He bartered and haggled on the price of cheese, grain, mead, sugar, salt and pepper. He got some cloth, some furs and pelts and even a paired goose and gander. Gunnar also got a measure of meat, which he knew he'd have to come down to the market every other day to replace. Gunnar moved with an unfettered speed, before he relised that the slight puffs of air he kept hearing was Brihanna's labored breathing from the much to heavy basket. Gunnar smiled apologetically and lifted the basket from her arms with little effort. A quick motion with his head and the odd pair were on their way back up the side of the hill towards Gunnar's home.
After entering Gunnar's home, the pair quickly emptied the basket into the pantry and the cupboard and onto the little shelf over the butcher block. Gunnar took the time to point out where everything was, so Brihanna could find it again later. When they were finished, Brihanna sat down into her chair and relaxed, having just been through quite a bit of work. Gunnar silently sliced off some cheese from the wheel and rolled it up onto it's now flat side, so it was out of the way of the rest of the counter space. Gunnar gave the first slice to Brihanna and quickly chewed through his own slice, offering her some of the milk he had purchased in the market. Gunnar used the time of relaxation to continue to drill Brihanna on the words he was attempting to teach her. No better way to learn than by doing, and so Gunnar tought. It quickly became a good time between them, their smiles and laughs coming easily and often between the two of them.
Then she touched his lips. It was a singularly curious movement, that not many people would make, least of all to a towering and imposing figure like Gunnar. It reminded him of how his mate used to tug lightly on his beard, as if she didn't believe it to be attached to his face. Gunnar's brow knit and his eyes darkened, first at the remembered pain of the loss of his mate, and then at the edge of lust brought up remembering the last time a woman had come willingly into his bed. Gunnar suddenly felt hot and ashamed. Very ashamed. She spoke softly, and in obvious question, but aside from his name, he didn't know what she said, but she kept touching his lips softly. But when their eyes met, her hand shot to her side, and he could see the levity leaving her in a rush, only to be dogged on it's heels by fear and apprehension. And a shame so thick, Gunnar himself could feel it. Her head drooped, and Gunnar's heart cried out to her. He stepped forward, his words soft. "Brihanna..." but she moved backward. Gunnar let out a heavy breath and thought to himself, "Work...I'll go cut fire wood and take my mind off of this..." So he turned and hefted a wood axe from the wall, near to his battle axes.
"Follow me Brihanna, we will need fire wood for the coming winter." Gunnar swung his empty hand and nodded with his head in the direction they needed to travel. She froze for a moment, deep in thought, but she followed quickly enough, no outward sign to match her inward brewing. Gunnar turned to move up the hill, the axe casually held over his shoulder. He took half a dozen steps until he relised she had stopped, so he turned assuming she would have a question about something or other. He was greeted with a most curious sight. She had sat down in the middle of his yard to remove the boots he had given her that very morning. Gunnar moved back towards her, and watched her unlace her boots. He knelt down on the balls of his feet and touched her hands, to stop her removal of the boots. "She doesn't like my gift..." Gunnar thought to himself quietly. She paused, and he set his axe down, then quietly and gently relaced and tied the boots on Brihanna's feet. He took hold of her hands, and standing, he helped her to her feet, even when she didn't seem to want to be helped. They stood for a second, looking at one another -- then Gunnar hefted his axe, motioned with his head and set off up the hill again.
They moved up the hill, over the crest with the bathhouse and down the opposite side. Gunnar was looking about and eventually found exactly what he was looking for. A small wheel barrow. He set his axe inside the wheel barrow, and hefted the two poles with his hands, dragging it along behind himself as they continued their decent towards a the edge of a forest, hidden from sight to the village by the hill. Gunnar led the cart and Brihanna into a copse set a little ways from the edge of the forest. He released his grip on the cart and peered at the trees intently, each in turn. It was an odd course of action, but Brihanna was caught up in her thoughts and Gunnar worked busily along. Finally he found the exact tree he wanted, and he went back to the cart to lift his axe. Moving to the tree, Gunnar kicked some small stones and loose twigs from where he stood. He braced his feet, hefted his axe over his shoulder and brought it round in a dazzling arc that buried the head of the axe several inches into the tree and left Gunnar's arms just a trace numb from the shock. A powerful jerk and the blade was free, but only for a few moments as it arced slightly downward this time, a large chunk of wood flipping away from where Gunnar stood. Gunnar continued to swing the axe at the tree, his right hand rising and falling on the haft of the tool, his left arm there to continue the powerful swing of the heavy axe head. Gunnar stopped a moment and leaned the axe against the tree. His left hand passed across his brow to move the sweat off of his skin, while his right hand reached down, caught up the edge of his tunic and pulled it over his head in a single movement. He tossed the tunic absent mindedly over his shoulder and it landed on a bush, almost as if Gunnar had ment to do that. He lifted the axe again, planted his feet, and started to swing again.
Gunnar continued to work on felling the tree and was surpised when Brihanna seemed to rouse herself from her semi-stupor state and start to explore amongst the trees. From time to time she would bend down and grab up a plant or root or bulb and place it in the front of her tunic. She disappeared from sight several times, but Gunnar didn't believe she would run away. Besides, where would she run too? Then Gunnar was through the tree, shouting out a warning to anyone who might be nearby as it slowly tipped, then gathered speed and crash to earth. Gunnar merely moved beside the now fallen tree, planted his feet and started to seperate the tree into smaller logs, which he could split once he got them back to his hut. Gunnar was even more surprised, and pleasently so when Brihanna started to pick up the logs he had seperated and placed them into the wheel barrow. Gunnar grinned, Brihanna smiled in response and they continued to work, in relative silence.
They spent the remainder of the day in the copse of trees. Gunnar splitting the large tree into smaller logs, while Brihanna filled the wheel barrow. Then Gunnar would wheel it back to the house and the pair would unload it, only to return to the felled tree and start the process over again. On one of the trips, though Gunnar wouldn't have been able to say which, the dog accompanied them, dashing about with Brihanna like the two had been raised together. He was an unassuming mutt, and she was a kindly woman; and they got along as well as any two could. He was more curious about the plants and such she brought back with her every time. There was quite the pile on the butcher block in the hut, as the woods hadn't been combed for herbs and such like that had back in Brihanna's homeland. Soon the sun was retreating across the sky, to rest for it's blazing path in the morning.
Gunnar worked on, and he could see Brihanna was tired. She moved slower, but gamly tried to pull her own weight, as Gunnar slowly but surly assumed the better part of the work. He didn't mind though, he would have been just as happy to leave her at his hut, but he feared for her, and for what she might do if she paniced or decided to run away. Gunnar shruged away the thoughts and snagged up his tunic from the bush. He wiped it across himself, gathering up his sweat so he could have some measure of comfort prior to his bath. Collecting his dog, Brihanna, her last tiny bunch of herbs and the last of the wood, Gunnar started back to his hut with everything. When they made the short trip, Gunnar left the barrow in his yard, the dog and herbs in the hut and came out with the same package he had the night before. He gently took Brihanna's hand and lead her towards the bath house, so they could clean after the long day of work.
He lead her up and into the bathing room, with it's now familiar basins of cold rain water and the empty basin used to wash with. Gunnar filled it to brimming with the water and stripped his dirty clothing off, tucking it into the package. He turned to Brihanna who was leaning against a wall, dozing quietly and Gunnar smiled. He patted her cheek softly until she woke up, and then he pulled the tunic from her. Even as tired as she was, she still felt the shame and embarassment well up from her stomach and spread across her neck and upper breasts, though it was muted this time. From her being tired, or just growing accostumed to it, she couldn't say. She leaned against the wall again and in moments, was dozing off. So Gunnar threw the basin of water at her, which had the sudden and immediate effect of waking Brihanna up and sending her a half foot into the air in surprise. Gunnar offered up the chunk of soap to Brihanna for her to bath with, but she shook her head, clinging stubbornly to the idea that bathing was sinful.
Gunnar shrugged, and came forward, a hand gripping Brihanna not ungently but firmly holding her in place, and he bathed her like he had the night before. It started out strict and officious, but ended in soft caresses and lingering glances at Brihanna's body. Gunnar couldn't help himself with Brihanna, and he softly spoke, "Vakker." He looked up at her, and saw that she again refused to meet his eyes and he moved away, his hands soapy from his washing her, and so he quickly washed himself. He was surprised to find himself erect, and he knew he needed to do something about it. Filling the basin with water again, he led the now clean yet sputtering Brihanna into the fog of steam inside the sauna. It again held a large number of people in it, though less than the last time they were there because it was moving rapidly towards late night. Gunnar found a bench and Brihanna promptly laid herself out on it, the shock of the cold water slowly wearing off of her, only to be replaced by the utter tiredness she felt. Gunnar laid next to her, but this time he kept his hands to himself, knowing how much it disgusted her when he did it. She only ever showed him tears and shame and embarassment, and he continued to force it onto her. But he was lonely, so very lonely, and so very smitted by her looks, her eyes, the gentle swell of his hips...
Gunnar listened to the soft breathing of Brihanna's sleeping form. He sat up, and looked down at her, laying on her back, relaxed despite the nervousness he knew she felt about being naked in front of a bunch of people. Gunnar stood slowly and checked to make sure she was still asleep, then he moved up and away across the next bench and onto the one after that. He could see nothing now except for the billowing clouds of white steam that surrounded him in their delicious warmth, easing the pain from his arms and back and shoulders and legs. It however didn't ease the tenison in his groin. Gunnar looked down at his erect cock, which was still firmly thinking about the naked form of Brihanna. Gunnar stretched his legs out on the bench, and relaxed backward, his right hand moving to lay on his thigh, his thumb toying lightly with the top of his shaft.
Gunnar's eyes closed, and he moaned very softly, his hand slowly moving to encircle his shaft and move slowly up and down. Gunnar's mind raced through the thoughts of Brihanna, most of them she was clothed for, and it was a coy glance, or the fall of her hair on her cheek that really got Gunnar aroused. Of course images of her naked flashed through his mind, but they were short flashes as she was rarly able to have a good time when she was naked, and Gunnar didn't want to remember all the pain and dismay he had caused Brihanna. His right hand started to move faster, up and down his cock as he contiued to think about Brihanna, his left arm hanging limply off the side of the bench. Gunnar didn't relise it, but he didn't think of his past mate once, and she was the only person he ever thought about when he took certain matters into his own hands.
Gunnar shifted a bit on the bench as his right hand continued to massage his cock, his left hand slowly moving up and forward to caress his balls, his hips thrusting unconciously up at the feeling. Gunnar was rapidly approaching his climax, the climax his body needs so very much if Gunnar was going to keep his hands and more importantly his cock off of and out of Brihanna. She didn't want his touch, even the contact of his eyes on her made her drop her face in revulsion, and Gunnar didn't want to put her though that. He growled as he felt the waves of pleasure rush across his body, centered on and flowing out of his groin. His hips pumped in perfect countertime to the movement of his hand and it was only moments before the cum, boiling in his balls came rushing out in a hot wet gush and up into the air.
Gunnar's seed landed on the floor, on his chest, on the bench; such was the force of his pent up passions. His hand had stilled it's movement, but his hips continued to hump up into the air as his chest and shoulders slowly relaxed. Gunnar sighed in post orgasmic bliss, his cock not quite so insistant or hard. But Gunnar needed to get cleaned up, so he stood from the bench, smiling at the little spatteds of cum which he obliterated under his heel, then he made his way back to the washing room. He rinsed himself off and came back to the bench where he had left Brihanna, looking down on the sleeping woman. He laid out beside her and closed his eyes, relaxing in the hot steam after yet another cold bath.
The only thought that never crossed Gunnar's mind was -- Brihanna was still awake.
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