He silently thanked the thing that had stopped him before and its roughness, because he would have burst laughing if he hadn’t been so sore.
Berwald stared.
Tino swallowed the chuckles that were incessantly threatening to build up in his stomach and chest and tried to bring forth a dizzy yet pleased expression to say, “Better now that such a delicate flower is greeting my presence and healing my wounds with her gorgeous fragrance! Oh, who are you, sweet goddess of spring and beauty?”
That was the cheesiest thing he had ever said in his entire life.
It worked like a charm.
The boy looked between dumbfounded, confused, disgusted and flattered, and his eyes widened a bit. Berwald stared.
Oh, well, that would probably never change.
“Well--” he had forgotten to apply the falsetto to his voice, and it was deep and male before he coughed in an attempt to cover it up and continued, in that obnoxiously high pitch, “I mean, well—my name is Eirikr…i… na… hild. Uh. Eirikrinahild!”
Tino had to pinch himself in the arm painfully so as not to cackle maniacally.
“Oh, what a beautiful name, my little flower! I am Tino, and I am truly your slave” he said, as pompously as he could muster.
Was this their plan of seduction? Really? Their leader hadn’t looked like a genius, but that being this stupid was humanely possible had been unknown to Tino. Well. He could at least have fun.
The boy—or Eirikrinahild, as he seemed to want to be referred to—seemed to consider something for a moment (Tino could only speculate that it was whether it would be acceptable to ask for his favour already or if he should wait a bit more), then took his hand and, looking at Berwald with what had to be the most mortified expression in the world, said “Say, why don’t we move somewhere more… private?”
He was obviously expecting Berwald to get the hint.
Berwald stared. Yeah, not so much.
Tino scrambled to his elbows, finding that, even though his head was pounding, he could stand on slightly shaking legs. Running was probably not a possibility— and he was sure that the grunting something Eirikrinahild’s brother had summoned was still around—but at least he could walk, and maybe get away from Berwald’s eyes for a few seconds (holy Väinämöinen, what was wrong with this man?).
“At once, my tender lily of the valley” he whispered, and the giggle ‘she’ tried to make was actually a very unflattering snort.
***
They held hands all the way out of the tent. Magnus, at one moment where the Finn wasn’t looking, flashed him a grin and an approving gesture, and his brother, while hitting him in the face, had an expression that was very obviously amused. Only Eirikr could tell, of course, any other person would have seen him as emotionless as always, but it Eirikr knew what he was really thinking, and it made him want to throw a rock at his face or something.
This was humiliating enough.
The Finn rubbed gentle circles on his hand, which he touched like it was the most delicate of treasures.
It made him want to wretch in a ditch, but it was also kind of nice to be handled with such care.
“My name is Tino, my shy violet” he said, close to his ear. “But you can call me Ti-ti.”
Eirikr shuddered. He nearly forgot his falsetto again as he said, “What a charming name! And how could I shorten it, it seems almost sacrilegious!”
“Oh, no, I insist. You can call me whatever your beautiful heart desires, but Ti-ti I see most fit for your clever little tongue to say”
If Eirikr hadn’t known better, he would have thought that Tino was making fun of him. But no, his costume was too foolproof (he had made doubly sure of it, because the humiliation of being recognized was something he knew he couldn’t ever bear). If his left “breast” wouldn’t keep sliding down his chest, it would be perfect. But he was sure the Finn wouldn’t have picked that up.
They frolicked within fields and Tino picked him flowers (“small sisters of yours that pale towards your beauty!”).
Eirikr blushed.
Then, when the Finn looked somewhere else, he slapped his own face trying to make that go away.
Of Finnish Trolls and Seductive Vikings: Chapter 1 [3/5]
Berwald stared.
Tino swallowed the chuckles that were incessantly threatening to build up in his stomach and chest and tried to bring forth a dizzy yet pleased expression to say, “Better now that such a delicate flower is greeting my presence and healing my wounds with her gorgeous fragrance! Oh, who are you, sweet goddess of spring and beauty?”
That was the cheesiest thing he had ever said in his entire life.
It worked like a charm.
The boy looked between dumbfounded, confused, disgusted and flattered, and his eyes widened a bit. Berwald stared.
Oh, well, that would probably never change.
“Well--” he had forgotten to apply the falsetto to his voice, and it was deep and male before he coughed in an attempt to cover it up and continued, in that obnoxiously high pitch, “I mean, well—my name is Eirikr…i… na… hild. Uh. Eirikrinahild!”
Tino had to pinch himself in the arm painfully so as not to cackle maniacally.
“Oh, what a beautiful name, my little flower! I am Tino, and I am truly your slave” he said, as pompously as he could muster.
Was this their plan of seduction? Really? Their leader hadn’t looked like a genius, but that being this stupid was humanely possible had been unknown to Tino. Well. He could at least have fun.
The boy—or Eirikrinahild, as he seemed to want to be referred to—seemed to consider something for a moment (Tino could only speculate that it was whether it would be acceptable to ask for his favour already or if he should wait a bit more), then took his hand and, looking at Berwald with what had to be the most mortified expression in the world, said “Say, why don’t we move somewhere more… private?”
He was obviously expecting Berwald to get the hint.
Berwald stared. Yeah, not so much.
Tino scrambled to his elbows, finding that, even though his head was pounding, he could stand on slightly shaking legs. Running was probably not a possibility— and he was sure that the grunting something Eirikrinahild’s brother had summoned was still around—but at least he could walk, and maybe get away from Berwald’s eyes for a few seconds (holy Väinämöinen, what was wrong with this man?).
“At once, my tender lily of the valley” he whispered, and the giggle ‘she’ tried to make was actually a very unflattering snort.
***
They held hands all the way out of the tent. Magnus, at one moment where the Finn wasn’t looking, flashed him a grin and an approving gesture, and his brother, while hitting him in the face, had an expression that was very obviously amused. Only Eirikr could tell, of course, any other person would have seen him as emotionless as always, but it Eirikr knew what he was really thinking, and it made him want to throw a rock at his face or something.
This was humiliating enough.
The Finn rubbed gentle circles on his hand, which he touched like it was the most delicate of treasures.
It made him want to wretch in a ditch, but it was also kind of nice to be handled with such care.
“My name is Tino, my shy violet” he said, close to his ear. “But you can call me Ti-ti.”
Eirikr shuddered. He nearly forgot his falsetto again as he said, “What a charming name! And how could I shorten it, it seems almost sacrilegious!”
“Oh, no, I insist. You can call me whatever your beautiful heart desires, but Ti-ti I see most fit for your clever little tongue to say”
If Eirikr hadn’t known better, he would have thought that Tino was making fun of him. But no, his costume was too foolproof (he had made doubly sure of it, because the humiliation of being recognized was something he knew he couldn’t ever bear). If his left “breast” wouldn’t keep sliding down his chest, it would be perfect. But he was sure the Finn wouldn’t have picked that up.
They frolicked within fields and Tino picked him flowers (“small sisters of yours that pale towards your beauty!”).
Eirikr blushed.
Then, when the Finn looked somewhere else, he slapped his own face trying to make that go away.