MASSIVE MONSTER DELAY for which I'm sorry, as I am for the bad writing (Most of it is unproductive nonsense. Nothing worked as I wanted it D:) and the length of this thing. Also, more 'lengthy' things to come (see what I did there? NO I'M NOT SORRY FOR THAT)and--OP. You may want to stop checking from your phone. I know you are a rebel, an antichrist and anarchist, though, so you'll do what yer wild heart tells you, huh? xD Notes at the end, illustrations as links in the story. Enjoy!
Second Attempt: Laugardagr and a Man at a Loss II
Leiknir’s eyes wandered over his naked body in a way that could have seemed lascivious if Tino hadn’t been absolutely sure that they didn’t really care, but they fixed right at his face when he said, “I wanted to talk to you”.
The Finn sat down next to the naked wizard. “Then talk” he said.
Leiknir looked over the stream he’d been bathing in again, taking the washcloth and squeezing it over his chest. The water ran down in tiny rivulets, not unlike it had on Berwald a few minutes earlier; Leiknir wasn’t all that muscular, but his skin sure looked smooth. It was quite the sight, too.
“It is known amongst us that your folk possesses… powers. I know no stories of Finns that do not contain at least one powerful sorcerer, and I know of men who bought ropes tied to knots from your people because loosening these knots is sure to give good sailing winds.”
He stopped his words to glance at him again from half-lidded eyes, and in them was perhaps the slightest sparkle: Tino thought that maybe this subject truly interested him. Then Leiknir gracefully raised a long leg out of the water, stretching and flexing it once before briefly grazing it with the washcloth, still observing him.
He was good at this, but two could play this game… and Tino had no doubt that the one losing would eventually be Leiknir.
***
Berwald was a man of silence and few words and graceful, feline strength. If one were to compare him to an animal, the closest to him would be the great lion, an almost mythological beast only some Vikings knew of from travels far, far south.
While his eyes weren’t his strength, he had a mind sharper than ravenous teeth, unruly blond hair, a talent with the sword that compared to the longest of claws and a lean, muscular frame. He was silent as a stalking predator, breaking not a single twig and making not a single sound, reducing men with sharp senses to nothing but deaf and blind deer, wounded and crying and already within his jaws.
Currently, he was employing this talent of predatory soundlessness in spying on Leiknir and Tino from within the bushes.
He was frowning intensely, but that was hardly an unusual circumstance.
(If looks could kill, Leiknir would have quite possibly been feeling himself dissolve into a bubbling puddle of gore, and if looks could do other things, Tino would have quite possibly been feeling himself groped in inadequate places, but looks were just looks and the two of them were oblivious.)
Tino was, much to his dismay, smiling a little, seductive smile, and inched a bit closer to Leiknir.
Right above his head was a sharp intake of breath; he almost gasped, as well, noticing that Eirikr’s face had just surfaced above him with a quiet rustling of leaves.
“That little snake!” the boy hissed, inadvertently leaning his chin on Berwald’s head, but the latter was unsure who of them he was talking about.
“I was wondering if maybe you could…” Leiknir said, and to hear the next part they almost had to strain their ears, for it was said in a sensual whisper, “teach me”.
Even farther above his head there was suddenly another quick rustling of leaves and the weight on his head doubled, just as another, familiar and obnoxious voice exclaimed “Ha! That’s my Leiki, always so straightforward!”
Above him, Eirikr took on his brother’s job and tried to punch Magnus, who swiftly dodged under protests: sadly, no one was as effective as Leiknir with him. He eventually shut up on his own as the Finn’s eyes quickly darted in the direction of their bush.
Of Finnish Trolls and Seductive Vikings: Chapter 2b [1/6]
Second Attempt: Laugardagr and a Man at a Loss II
Leiknir’s eyes wandered over his naked body in a way that could have seemed lascivious if Tino hadn’t been absolutely sure that they didn’t really care, but they fixed right at his face when he said, “I wanted to talk to you”.
The Finn sat down next to the naked wizard. “Then talk” he said.
Leiknir looked over the stream he’d been bathing in again, taking the washcloth and squeezing it over his chest. The water ran down in tiny rivulets, not unlike it had on Berwald a few minutes earlier; Leiknir wasn’t all that muscular, but his skin sure looked smooth. It was quite the sight, too.
“It is known amongst us that your folk possesses… powers. I know no stories of Finns that do not contain at least one powerful sorcerer, and I know of men who bought ropes tied to knots from your people because loosening these knots is sure to give good sailing winds.”
He stopped his words to glance at him again from half-lidded eyes, and in them was perhaps the slightest sparkle: Tino thought that maybe this subject truly interested him. Then Leiknir gracefully raised a long leg out of the water, stretching and flexing it once before briefly grazing it with the washcloth, still observing him.
He was good at this, but two could play this game… and Tino had no doubt that the one losing would eventually be Leiknir.
***
Berwald was a man of silence and few words and graceful, feline strength. If one were to compare him to an animal, the closest to him would be the great lion, an almost mythological beast only some Vikings knew of from travels far, far south.
While his eyes weren’t his strength, he had a mind sharper than ravenous teeth, unruly blond hair, a talent with the sword that compared to the longest of claws and a lean, muscular frame. He was silent as a stalking predator, breaking not a single twig and making not a single sound, reducing men with sharp senses to nothing but deaf and blind deer, wounded and crying and already within his jaws.
Currently, he was employing this talent of predatory soundlessness in spying on Leiknir and Tino from within the bushes.
He was frowning intensely, but that was hardly an unusual circumstance.
(If looks could kill, Leiknir would have quite possibly been feeling himself dissolve into a bubbling puddle of gore, and if looks could do other things, Tino would have quite possibly been feeling himself groped in inadequate places, but looks were just looks and the two of them were oblivious.)
Tino was, much to his dismay, smiling a little, seductive smile, and inched a bit closer to Leiknir.
Right above his head was a sharp intake of breath; he almost gasped, as well, noticing that Eirikr’s face had just surfaced above him with a quiet rustling of leaves.
“That little snake!” the boy hissed, inadvertently leaning his chin on Berwald’s head, but the latter was unsure who of them he was talking about.
“I was wondering if maybe you could…” Leiknir said, and to hear the next part they almost had to strain their ears, for it was said in a sensual whisper, “teach me”.
Even farther above his head there was suddenly another quick rustling of leaves and the weight on his head doubled, just as another, familiar and obnoxious voice exclaimed “Ha! That’s my Leiki, always so straightforward!”
http://s963.photobucket.com/user/spg107/media/Of%20Finnish%20Trolls%20and%20Seductive%20Vikings/P4080009.jpg.html?sort=3&o=4
Above him, Eirikr took on his brother’s job and tried to punch Magnus, who swiftly dodged under protests: sadly, no one was as effective as Leiknir with him. He eventually shut up on his own as the Finn’s eyes quickly darted in the direction of their bush.