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Athelstan likes making Ragnar jealous. It’s power, power that he has never been in possession of. He didn’t have power in the monastery; that power belonged to the elder monks, and of course absolute power was for God alone. He doesn’t even have power here, in Scandinavia, where there is freedom for almost all. Athelstan came to them as a captured slave, yanked by a rope that chafed roughly on his neck, reddened and broke the skin, marked him as no longer his own. Since his assimilation into Ragnar’s family, and the viking culture, he is no longer a slave. But he is still lacking authority, still doesn’t have much power except over Ragnar and Lagertha’s children, which he sometimes minds, and even then they rarely listen to him anymore.
He is his own man in a theoretical sense. Ragnar and Lagertha did not force him into their bed, though he could hardly have refused them. And now he is part of their family, an integral part in fact, and though he is not quite their equal, he is happy with his position.
Still, he takes power where he can get it, and he likes knowing that if he and Lagertha have relations when Ragnar is not around, and he finds out about it, Athelstan can get what he wants out of Ragnar. Which is, to say, a good hard fuck. Ragnar is a jealous man, likes his property and his power (though of course he respects the individual, and Lagertha would not lower herself to be with him did he not value her as an equal, even superior) and he does not like being excluded from sex, especially when it was he that brought the three of them together.
And Athelstan revels in the single-minded focus that Ragnar bestows upon him when they fuck. When it’s the three of them, it’s incredible and Athelstan could not ask for more, but sometimes he wants it to just be him and another person (whether Ragnar or Lagertha), with all the focus on him, and his pleasure.
So he’d fucked Lagertha the night before. Ragnar was gone for the night, taking his son out for whatever father-son bonding they did (Athelstan has carved his place into this home and country, but he is not a viking and never will be), and he’d sunk into Lagertha the way she likes it sometimes, slow and sweet. Ragnar is not prone to much tenderness, and they love him for it, but sometimes it is missed.
Lagertha let it slip, as she always does (mostly for Athelstan’s benefit) and it was only a matter of time before Ragnar came and tore Athelstan from whatever he was doing.
Like clockwork, Ragnar roughly shoves at Athelstan, and Athelstan has been hard for hours just thinking about this, thinking about the feral snarls that Ragnar makes, the bruises that Athelstan finds for days afterwards. He needs no convincing, clutches at Ragnar greedily and Ragnar hums his approval. Athelstan knows to show Ragnar that he is needed, that he is wanted, and it is no act. Athelstan craves a way he didn’t know was possible, and it is Ragnar he craves.
Ragnar doesn’t use words, not yet, just tears Athelstan’s clothes from his body- and Athelstan wishes he were exaggerating, but he hears a rip and there is something else he must mend- and hefts him him against the wall. It is no effort at all, for Ragnar to lift Athelstan’s still slight body, and Athelstan revels in the feel of being manhandled, of feeling like there is nothing he can do to resist.
Athelstan’s head thunks painfully against the wall as he bares his neck for Ragnar, but he can’t bring himself to care. Ragnar shoves his fingers into Athelstan’s mouth and Athelstan obediently sucks hard, laving his tongue upon them, leaving what he hopes is sufficient lubrication. Ragnar wastes no time at all in entering Athelstan, in stretching him fast. It burns and it’s almost too much to take but if Athelstan didn’t want it rough he would not have done this, so he takes what he is given with gratitude. Athelstan is vocal, so vocal because if anyone values freedom, it is him so he lets himself moan wantonly, hiding his smirk as Ragnar’s fingers become more insistent.
Athelstan is thankful for the hard work he has done since he’s been here, because he now has muscle underneath his skin, muscle that supports the rolling of his hips, even as he is pressed against a wall and given almost no purchase whatsoever. Ragnar likes it, and it’s not long after that Ragnar withdraws his fingers and replaces them with his cock and god-
Ragnar is filling him up, so fucking thick and god, this is why they are the three of them, because he loves Lagertha but he doesn’t know what he’d do without Ragnar’s cock. He fucking thirsts for it sometimes, craves it so badly that he can’t concentrate on minding the children, shamefully hides his erection under the monks robes that he still wears sometimes, for the familiarity. He remembers seeing Ragnar for the first time, all bared skin and rippling muscles, and Athelstan’s eyes roved greedily as shame pooled in his belly with it’s constant companion, arousal. But now he doesn’t have to feel shame anymore because he feels freer than he ever has, and he lets moans tumble from his throat, knowing Lagertha is in the next room, knowing she can hear them, knowing that she must be idly touching herself, waiting for her boys to come back and take care of her.
“Tell me you want it, tell me you miss it and want to choke it down, feel me fuck your pretty little mouth until you can’t even speak, until all words of your God are forgotten.” Ragnar’s voice never fails to make Athelstan gasp. Ragnar likes this, to hear how badly Athelstan has missed his cock. Athelstan is happy to play into Ragnar’s needs because they are his needs as well, he needs that cock.
The words that Ragnar wants come spilling from Athelstan’s throat, like a prayer and why did he ever pray to god when he could have been worshipping this man, worshipping his cock with his mouth and tongue and lips.
Athelstan doesn’t have to do anything because Ragnar is doing everything, hefting him up against the wall and slamming into him with such force he knows he won’t be able to walk straight the next day. His legs are hitched up around Ragnar’s waist and Ragnar is biting at his neck, sucking vicious bruises, and it’s so fucking dirty and Athelstan feels like he was only ever created for one purpose, to be fucked and fucked hard.
He doesn’t give him any time to adjust, doesn’t falter in his rhythm, just fucks into Athelstan relentlessly. Athelstan doesn’t know what he was doing before this. Saying rosaries, running his fingers over prayer beads and begging for absolution? He begs for absolution now, certainly. Begs Ragnar to touch his cock, trapped between them, leaking and flushed. Begs to be touched, begs for Ragnar to paint him with his release, to be marked and used.
“You know what I like to hear, monk,” Ragnar’s voice is fierce and commanding, and Athelstan would never refuse.
“Touch me, please god, fuck, touch me and I will do anything you say, anything you ask of me, I will spend a year on my knees doing nothing but pleasing you, oh god, I need your hands on me, need your cock in my ass, and I will never pray to anyone but you again.” Athelstan babbles and he doesn’t even know what he’s saying, wouldn’t have ever even thought words like this could come out of his mouth but months with the vikings have taught him so many things.
Finally, finally Ragnar puts his hands on him, strips his cock and it would be rough only Athelstan’s cock is coated in precome because he’s been leaking for Ragnar longer than he can remember. It’s slick and fast and Athelstan is sobbing as he comes, splashing Ragnar and fuck, when this is over he will lick every drop off.
Ragnar unceremoniously pulls out of Athelstan and for a glorious moment Athelstan thinks that Ragnar is going to let him suck his cock, going to come all over his face, pearly white and more holy than anything in the monastery, but no, that will be another day. Right now Athelstan is shoved onto his hands and knees and Ragnar brutally fucks back into him, so deep and it’s not much longer before Ragnar comes too, and Athelstan is so stretched open, red and abused, and Ragnar leaks out of him and drips onto the floor.
Athelstan is spent and exhausted but Ragnar is not satiated, and drags Athelstan to their bedroom where Lagertha is waiting. She is naked, glorious and strong, and Ragnar puts his mouth on her, using fingers and tongue until she is trembling, and forces Athelstan to watch. When it is over, finally all over and the three are cocooned in their bed and draped in furs, Athelstan wonders how he is so lucky, to have all of this.
They love him, and he loves them, and surprisingly enough, it only makes him believe in God all the more, for bringing him to these people, for letting him discover a true family, one that loves (and fucks) without judgement, without care.
Athelstan goes to sleep between them, reveling in how they still can’t help but want to protect him. Ragnar has an arm securely around his middle and Lagertha’s nose is in his hair, and her calf is curled around his thigh. He is content, he is happy, he is loved. He cannot ask for more.