Title means "Under the root of the mountain" in Swedish. Taken from Finntroll, which have absolutely nothing to do with this except for filling my brains with weird ideas with their music.
Norse mythology: He is the goddess of Helheim, where those who die the straw death (= don't fall in battle) go; the Gjöll is a river that leads to Helheim. It isn't necessarily what's going on here, just Berwald's interpretation. Enjoy if you can ;D
In the early hours of the morning, he beheld the mountain. It called him, and Berwald wasn’t sure why; the sun barely rose above the hill, making it gleam in orange light, but what he heard was a song, and where it came from, he didn’t know.
In the late hours of sundown, he beheld the mountain again. He could hear its people calling.
He climbed down the rocks framing the blood red river. He was a tall, stoic man; his father had been a Viking still, but under the influence of his Christian mother he had been baptized.
He wondered where he would go when he died. Would the Heaven his mother told tales of be open for him, or would he fall as a soldier and go to Valhalla? Or would Hel consider him unworthy of either and kiss him with her icy mouth?
He did not know; he descended a rocky path and a river was by his side and he thought of the Gjöll.
The river went into the mountain, and he stood in front of a gaping opening. The laughter and chants of the folk underneath the very root surrounded him, and he climbed down.
He found himself in a tavern of trollfolk.
He sat down at a round table, waiting. He watched all of them wearily; the big ones in the corner, with their empty eyes and long noses; the musicians, playing instruments of gruesome origins, a green shade to their skin Berwald was sure wasn’t painted on; the many-legged girls on the stage, lifting their skirts to reveal what they so generously possessed.
He drank something. It was of a poisonous orange colour.
There was a man or a boy or a… a what? A troll; a fae; Hel in the body of a man, a blond someone, and he was watching him, yet when Berwald looked back at him, the boy turned red and trembled and recoiled.
He was gone as soon as he had stolen Berwald’s heart.
A Song of Ancient Fathers sounded around him, and from within he felt the words to it, bubbling up in his ribcage, trying to fall out and make him sing it too.
He remembered the man or the boy or the someone, and he ran.
He beheld the mountain from afar, fearing the song that would damn him to be at the mercy of the children of the tribe of the rocks, yet at the next sundown he was there again.
The stones were still foreign under his feet, scraping his clothing, but he slithered into the cavern and was greeted by its songs and cheers.
The boy’s smile was hesitant, but it was there. Berwald had never been good at talking and was even worse at letting his body talk, so when he approached him, tall and looming and cryptic behind icy blue eyes, it was normal that the small one, the someone, receded.
The song of ancient fathers sounded again, and the boy’s eyes were wide. He looked to his sides, then leaned up to Berwald and said, “Tino”.
They both ran off in different directions.
Each morning at sunrise he beheld the mountains, and returned at sundown, and under the root of the mountain were a cave and a tavern and a man named Tino with smiles who trembled less and less as he learned to read him.
Berwald slept during the day and only lived during the night, when he could come and see Tino’s wide smiles and his laughter and his warmth, yet it was good, because Berwald fell in love, and love was good.
Tino was not even remotely Christian. His tongue twisted the words of Berwald’s language in a way that made it sure that he had more in common with the Pagan Finns from across the sea than his own people; his eyes shown in a violet colour that no human should ever possess; and when his smile was really, really wide, Berwald could see a hint of tusks in his lower jaw. He was a troll, or something similar.
Tino had been shocked and startled and laughed at it as a joke, and what he had said was, “I am not really female”, and Berwald had wondered if what he was mattered at all.
Because he was not really male, either.
Yet then the song of ancient fathers would be sung, and Berwald ran before the words he had never heard before spurted out of his chest, and the desire at the pit of his stomach was postponed.
He kissed Tino the next night.
The troll had been surprised at first, the chortled gasp of his name dying on his lips, tusks moving to be involuntarily sharp against Berwald’s mouth, yet Berwald didn’t care. He bowed down and kissed Tino again and again until his tongue darted out in response and they tasted each other, mouths open with want. Berwald pressed Tino against the wall, feeling his small, lean body writhe in response, and there was a little, low voiced growl in the back of Tino’s throat that escaped him as the taller man forced his tongue into his mouth.
Tino’s hands went up to take Berwald’s face and demand him to kiss harder.
They breathed each other in and sucked and tasted and licked, battling for access and warmth and finding willingness in surrender. The way Berwald’s heart jumped down and down and down and set in the pit of his belly made it painfully obvious to himself that he yearned for Tino in the most carnal of ways, a way his mother’s God would never approve of.
Tino smiled, breathless, pupils dilated and darkening his gorgeous eyes, and he sniffed the air briefly before moaning and saying, “Berwald, I can smell you”.
Berwald knew that he meant his arousal. If it stroke him as wrong, as animalistic, that Tino could smell his urges, it disappeared as soon as Tino slid one of his hands into his hair and pulled him down for another kiss.
But when the song of ancient fathers sounded, Berwald had to part or he would moan the words to it into Tino’s mouth.
Tino’s mouth was red and his lips plump when they separated, yet his tongue was blue.
He was already hard when he ran down the valley the next sundown, yet his erection didn’t slow him down. He had dreamt of Tino and of his small frame and his clawing hands and the way his skin sometimes felt like stone or scales or moss and now he wanted to know if what he’d dreamt was true.
Hungry lips and sharp tusks greeted him at the entrance of the cavern, and as the tongue he now knew was blue licked his own he grabbed the troll’s ass with two big hands and felt his tail graze them.
“I could smell you again” Tino whispered between hungry licks and bites, “you smell like musk and mist… and a bit like the Christian blood you have inside”
Berwald grunted. His tongue traced the line of the other’s jaw.
“It doesn’t stink… it smells of danger. But I know you wouldn’t hurt me, would you?”
How he could be so composed when Berwald himself was barely able to restrain himself from ravaging him he didn’t know. Berwald answered with a sloppy, hungry, horny kiss.
Tino smiled into it and said, “Then you can have me”
They fell to the floor outside of the tavern, and when Tino sat on his lap he felt both hardness and wetness through his pants and when he came after they rut against each other with their clothes on he knew that his mother’s Heaven would be closed to him forever.
Now, at dusk, after going with a dizzy head and bitemarks on his neck and shoulders at dawn, he walks slowly.
He’ll take Tino tonight. He’ll make him his once and for all.
At the entrance of the tavern, where the music echoes lightly, a hand that isn’t soft but feels like stone and scales and moss takes his and the whisper is low and it says “…like musk and mist and danger and want…” and he is pulled into a room where the music is a background noise compared to Tino’s hitched breathing.
They kiss.
Tino’s tongue is the taste he has wanted all his life, everything he’s ever needed. They kiss and they bite at each other’s lips, and if at some point Tino’s tusks scratch some skin it doesn’t matter because it’s just more to taste, more to feel, and there isn’t an inch of space, a particle of air between their faces as they swallow each other in that lock their mouths keep.
Berwald finds that his chest is naked when Tino’s claw ripped right through his cloth and chainmail and he doesn’t care, doesn’t care that that strength isn’t human, just wants and Tino’s mouth latches onto his nipple and he gasps. He takes Tino’s shirt off and gazes onto his skin, and it looks perfectly human, but when he touches it he knows it’s not--stone and scales and moss--and he loves every inch; he tastes the skin with his tongue and it’s snow, and it smells of pines and undergrowth.
Tino pulls him onto a rough lair of tangled sheets and hay underneath and his hands grasp his back as Berwald’s crotch grazes his. But this time they won’t settle with just this. This time they both want to be selfish and take it all.
Tino stares at his cock as it springs up to meet him when he tears down his pants, he licks it and sniffs and moans against the shaft. Berwald struggles not to come when he fondles his balls, curious, never having seen something like them, while taking him slowly and entirely into his mouth.
The soft rasp of the tusks makes him yelp, but it’s still in pleasure.
He fists Tino’s soft, blond hair and tugs, pulling him gently up into another kiss, but he’s nervous as he pulls down the other’s remaining clothing.
Tino feels this.
Tino smells this.
He presses their foreheads together and says, “I understand if you wish to leave”.
For a second, he falters; he thinks that maybe he can go and never return and pray to the Christian God for forgiveness. But he doesn’t want forgiveness.
He wants Tino.
He licks the other’s lips and his earlobe and his neck and pushes him down onto the bed, and he looks.
There is a cock, like his, maybe smaller but just as hard. Underneath is a cunt, wet and open and willing.
Tino’s eyes are closed and he looks ashamed, but Berwald moans. He has never been more aroused in his entire life. His own cock starts leaking.
He licks down the other’s body and reaches his cock, swirls his tongue over the tip and takes it into his mouth. Tino shudders and moans his name.
He spreads his legs while he bobs his head, his fingers clawing up his thighs until they reach the wet slit.
Tino screams and comes into his mouth as Berwald’s fingers thrust into him.
He swallows the weird tasting liquid. The troll is a trembling mess of pleasure and want that repeats his name like it’s a prayer.
Berwald prays to Tino, too, whispers his name as he takes his soaked fingers out of him and kisses his clit, making him thrash.
Then he darts out his tongue and Tino grunts and groans and his sounds are those of a man, even though what he is tasting isn’t.
He licks it whole, from where his ass starts to the base of his rapidly hardening member, with a flat tongue. His name keeps spilling from Tino’s mouth.
He breathes on it and smells it and swirls his tongue all over it, and when he’s sure he’s teased enough he sucks on the clit and rubs it with his tongue, with all the strength he can muster. Tino’s hands are on his hair, they pull and push him against his squirming hips, his legs entangling on his back to make sure he doesn’t stop.
He nudges the clit with his nose and pushes his tongue into the hole, swirling it inside, then thrusts it in and out. There’s wetness all around him, and the smell of his sex makes him dizzy. His cock is so hard he can’t stand it and it hurts, but he can’t do anything but suck and lick and worship Tino with his mouth.
He slips one finger into him again, never once stopping to swirls his tongue over as much of those wet folds he can, then another and yet another, until he’s fucking him with three violently moving fingers that are knuckle deep with him. Tino’s groans are animalistic, they sound like nothing Berwald has heard before, nothing human, and when he thrusts his tongue in alongside the fingers there is a sound that can only be the rumbling of thunder.
He sucks and even bites at the clit. With the way Tino is thrusting his hips up and screaming himself hoarse he knows he won’t last much longer, and soon enough he can feel his inner walls clenching down on his fingers and imprisoning them.
He comes in copious strands of white, staining it all, and Tino opens his mouth to receive whatever will fall into his mouth.
The image of Tino, dizzy from coming twice, still flustered and panting and completely covered in his come will haunt him forever, and it’s a welcome ghost.
They lay in each other’s arms, naked, feeling warmth and home. Berwald whispers things into Tino’s sharp ears. He tells him that he loves him. Tino giggles and kisses him and when he’s sure Berwald is asleep he whispers that he loves him back.
But Berwald isn’t asleep, and soon they are rutting against each other again, and Tino spreads his legs and says, “Take me”, and Berwald gulps, and nods. When he’s at his entrance he looks at the other and remembers his face covered in cum, and he can’t keep himself from thrusting into him whole, but Tino doesn’t mind. He moans and tightens and it’s so wet and warm and perfect that Berwald starts moving.
And they are one. Tino’s cock presses against his abdomen as they fuck, but Tino says that of he touches it, he’ll come too soon. They talk about love and tightness and size and perfection and beauty, but it’s all whispers and moans and bites and kisses and talking is nothing when you can just fuck.
Then the song of ancient fathers sounds, but Berwald can’t stop.
Tino tells him no, tries to get him to stop, but Berwald hugs him tight and sinks his head into his shoulder and presses in and out and doesn’t care. Tino’s hands clench down on his ears, but it’s late.
Berwald has never been good with words, but these he sings into Tino’s ear in a low rumble, as they were inside of him forever.
He comes as the song is finished and Tino is clenched down on him and covered in his own semen, but he doesn’t get out yet. It’s still warm and nice. But when he leans down for a kiss Tino’s face is wet with tears and his mouth is frozen.
It’s Hel’s mouth.
The sun is up and he stares at the stone roof and Tino isn’t there, and a cold feeling of dread builds up in his chest. He gathers what he can of his clothes and runs.
The tavern is empty, as if there’s never been anything there.
He’s outside and stares onto the mountain. Snow covers the landscape, a snow that wasn’t there the warm midsummer night before, and it’s the deepest of winters.
As he watches the snowfall, he sings the song of ancient fathers, an echo from his lips and from his chest. He sings with the children of the mountain, there, alone.
He is confused and scared and doesn’t know which God to beg for forgiveness.
At sundown he’ll come back.
The only God he’ll need will be Tino.
He’ll steal him away from the tavern under the root of the mountain, he’s sure, and then they’ll run away and Tino can be his wife of his husband or his God, and Heaven and Valhalla and Helheim will just be fictitious terms that have nothing to do with them.
Tino’s mouth won’t be as cold as Hel’s ever again.
He’s sure.
END
Based hugely on this http://www.darklyrics.com/lyrics/finntroll/nifelvind.html#9 and my weird interpretation of it which makes no sense at all but uh. Also, Maybe Berwald is dead. I have no idea. Imagine what you want ;D
Under Bergets Rot [4.5/5]( aka Author!Anon forgot something)
There, at the beginning of the last part, it should say:
Tino cries out his name again, and Berwald imagines that tight force clasping down on his cock, and that does it; as soon as he’s sure Tino is finished coming, he scrambles up to his knees, positions them at the sides of the troll’s chest, fists one hand into his hair and the other on his cock and jerks himself off in his beautiful flustered face.
lol I suck. I also apologize for the ridiculous amount of typos. I just noticed--I was in a hurry when I posted it and I thought that if I didn't post it that very second I wouldn't ever post it and. Uh. Sorry.
Ooh, this was a lovely story! I confess I have a weakness for the type of fairy-tale where a person disappears into a mountain called by some fairy-music, and this totally delivered on that (& thank you for not dashing all hope of a 'happy' ending, I'd have hated to think if these two would never see eachother again!). And I really enjoyed the descriptions of Tino's not-quite-humanness, as Berwald learns them...
A!A: I have a huuge weakness for that sort of thing too, that's why the song this is based on makes me so incredibly happy, although I kinda btchered its atmosphere but--LOOK! A FAIRY!
and well, the ending was going to be worse but I didn't have the heart, lol. I actually had planned that Berwald would die, then I didn't want it; then I thought of ending it with them running away and Tino turning to stone with the morning sun, but that was awful too; then I thought about a happy ending, but it was cheesy, so... yeah, this is the best thing I eventually came up with, fff. Thanks for reading!
HOOOOOLY crap. This was the hottest thing I've read in awhile. <333 Thank you anon!
I don't normally like SuFin but oh my gosh this was phenomenal. You are so talented! and a Finntroll fan asdkfjh come the fuck over here and let me love you forever
please please please please fill more. I loved this and it is instabookmarked for me for so many reasons.
A!A: fellow Finntroll-fan anon, have all of my babies this very instant
I am currently on a filling spree lol get it? like "killing spree" but with "F" I am such a genius so you will totally see me around. Unfortunately SuFin is sort of my OTP so, uh. ;_;
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Under Bergets Rot [1/4]
(Anonymous) 2013-02-23 02:49 pm (UTC)(link)Norse mythology: He is the goddess of Helheim, where those who die the straw death (= don't fall in battle) go; the Gjöll is a river that leads to Helheim. It isn't necessarily what's going on here, just Berwald's interpretation. Enjoy if you can ;D
In the early hours of the morning, he beheld the mountain. It called him, and Berwald wasn’t sure why; the sun barely rose above the hill, making it gleam in orange light, but what he heard was a song, and where it came from, he didn’t know.
In the late hours of sundown, he beheld the mountain again. He could hear its people calling.
He climbed down the rocks framing the blood red river. He was a tall, stoic man; his father had been a Viking still, but under the influence of his Christian mother he had been baptized.
He wondered where he would go when he died. Would the Heaven his mother told tales of be open for him, or would he fall as a soldier and go to Valhalla? Or would Hel consider him unworthy of either and kiss him with her icy mouth?
He did not know; he descended a rocky path and a river was by his side and he thought of the Gjöll.
The river went into the mountain, and he stood in front of a gaping opening. The laughter and chants of the folk underneath the very root surrounded him, and he climbed down.
He found himself in a tavern of trollfolk.
He sat down at a round table, waiting. He watched all of them wearily; the big ones in the corner, with their empty eyes and long noses; the musicians, playing instruments of gruesome origins, a green shade to their skin Berwald was sure wasn’t painted on; the many-legged girls on the stage, lifting their skirts to reveal what they so generously possessed.
He drank something. It was of a poisonous orange colour.
There was a man or a boy or a… a what? A troll; a fae; Hel in the body of a man, a blond someone, and he was watching him, yet when Berwald looked back at him, the boy turned red and trembled and recoiled.
He was gone as soon as he had stolen Berwald’s heart.
A Song of Ancient Fathers sounded around him, and from within he felt the words to it, bubbling up in his ribcage, trying to fall out and make him sing it too.
He remembered the man or the boy or the someone, and he ran.
He beheld the mountain from afar, fearing the song that would damn him to be at the mercy of the children of the tribe of the rocks, yet at the next sundown he was there again.
The stones were still foreign under his feet, scraping his clothing, but he slithered into the cavern and was greeted by its songs and cheers.
The boy’s smile was hesitant, but it was there. Berwald had never been good at talking and was even worse at letting his body talk, so when he approached him, tall and looming and cryptic behind icy blue eyes, it was normal that the small one, the someone, receded.
The song of ancient fathers sounded again, and the boy’s eyes were wide. He looked to his sides, then leaned up to Berwald and said, “Tino”.
They both ran off in different directions.
Each morning at sunrise he beheld the mountains, and returned at sundown, and under the root of the mountain were a cave and a tavern and a man named Tino with smiles who trembled less and less as he learned to read him.
Berwald slept during the day and only lived during the night, when he could come and see Tino’s wide smiles and his laughter and his warmth, yet it was good, because Berwald fell in love, and love was good.
Tino was not even remotely Christian. His tongue twisted the words of Berwald’s language in a way that made it sure that he had more in common with the Pagan Finns from across the sea than his own people; his eyes shown in a violet colour that no human should ever possess; and when his smile was really, really wide, Berwald could see a hint of tusks in his lower jaw. He was a troll, or something similar.
Berwald still asked him to be his wife.
Under Bergets Rot [2/4]
(Anonymous) 2013-02-23 02:51 pm (UTC)(link)Because he was not really male, either.
Yet then the song of ancient fathers would be sung, and Berwald ran before the words he had never heard before spurted out of his chest, and the desire at the pit of his stomach was postponed.
He kissed Tino the next night.
The troll had been surprised at first, the chortled gasp of his name dying on his lips, tusks moving to be involuntarily sharp against Berwald’s mouth, yet Berwald didn’t care. He bowed down and kissed Tino again and again until his tongue darted out in response and they tasted each other, mouths open with want. Berwald pressed Tino against the wall, feeling his small, lean body writhe in response, and there was a little, low voiced growl in the back of Tino’s throat that escaped him as the taller man forced his tongue into his mouth.
Tino’s hands went up to take Berwald’s face and demand him to kiss harder.
They breathed each other in and sucked and tasted and licked, battling for access and warmth and finding willingness in surrender. The way Berwald’s heart jumped down and down and down and set in the pit of his belly made it painfully obvious to himself that he yearned for Tino in the most carnal of ways, a way his mother’s God would never approve of.
Tino smiled, breathless, pupils dilated and darkening his gorgeous eyes, and he sniffed the air briefly before moaning and saying, “Berwald, I can smell you”.
Berwald knew that he meant his arousal. If it stroke him as wrong, as animalistic, that Tino could smell his urges, it disappeared as soon as Tino slid one of his hands into his hair and pulled him down for another kiss.
But when the song of ancient fathers sounded, Berwald had to part or he would moan the words to it into Tino’s mouth.
Tino’s mouth was red and his lips plump when they separated, yet his tongue was blue.
He was already hard when he ran down the valley the next sundown, yet his erection didn’t slow him down. He had dreamt of Tino and of his small frame and his clawing hands and the way his skin sometimes felt like stone or scales or moss and now he wanted to know if what he’d dreamt was true.
Hungry lips and sharp tusks greeted him at the entrance of the cavern, and as the tongue he now knew was blue licked his own he grabbed the troll’s ass with two big hands and felt his tail graze them.
“I could smell you again” Tino whispered between hungry licks and bites, “you smell like musk and mist… and a bit like the Christian blood you have inside”
Berwald grunted. His tongue traced the line of the other’s jaw.
“It doesn’t stink… it smells of danger. But I know you wouldn’t hurt me, would you?”
How he could be so composed when Berwald himself was barely able to restrain himself from ravaging him he didn’t know. Berwald answered with a sloppy, hungry, horny kiss.
Tino smiled into it and said, “Then you can have me”
They fell to the floor outside of the tavern, and when Tino sat on his lap he felt both hardness and wetness through his pants and when he came after they rut against each other with their clothes on he knew that his mother’s Heaven would be closed to him forever.
Now, at dusk, after going with a dizzy head and bitemarks on his neck and shoulders at dawn, he walks slowly.
He’ll take Tino tonight. He’ll make him his once and for all.
At the entrance of the tavern, where the music echoes lightly, a hand that isn’t soft but feels like stone and scales and moss takes his and the whisper is low and it says “…like musk and mist and danger and want…” and he is pulled into a room where the music is a background noise compared to Tino’s hitched breathing.
They kiss.
Tino’s tongue is the taste he has wanted all his life, everything he’s ever needed. They kiss and they bite at each other’s lips, and if at some point Tino’s tusks scratch some skin it doesn’t matter because it’s just more to taste, more to feel, and there isn’t an inch of space, a particle of air between their faces as they swallow each other in that lock their mouths keep.
Under Bergets Rot [3/4]
(Anonymous) 2013-02-23 02:53 pm (UTC)(link)Tino pulls him onto a rough lair of tangled sheets and hay underneath and his hands grasp his back as Berwald’s crotch grazes his. But this time they won’t settle with just this. This time they both want to be selfish and take it all.
Tino stares at his cock as it springs up to meet him when he tears down his pants, he licks it and sniffs and moans against the shaft. Berwald struggles not to come when he fondles his balls, curious, never having seen something like them, while taking him slowly and entirely into his mouth.
The soft rasp of the tusks makes him yelp, but it’s still in pleasure.
He fists Tino’s soft, blond hair and tugs, pulling him gently up into another kiss, but he’s nervous as he pulls down the other’s remaining clothing.
Tino feels this.
Tino smells this.
He presses their foreheads together and says, “I understand if you wish to leave”.
For a second, he falters; he thinks that maybe he can go and never return and pray to the Christian God for forgiveness. But he doesn’t want forgiveness.
He wants Tino.
He licks the other’s lips and his earlobe and his neck and pushes him down onto the bed, and he looks.
There is a cock, like his, maybe smaller but just as hard. Underneath is a cunt, wet and open and willing.
Tino’s eyes are closed and he looks ashamed, but Berwald moans. He has never been more aroused in his entire life. His own cock starts leaking.
He licks down the other’s body and reaches his cock, swirls his tongue over the tip and takes it into his mouth. Tino shudders and moans his name.
He spreads his legs while he bobs his head, his fingers clawing up his thighs until they reach the wet slit.
Tino screams and comes into his mouth as Berwald’s fingers thrust into him.
He swallows the weird tasting liquid. The troll is a trembling mess of pleasure and want that repeats his name like it’s a prayer.
Berwald prays to Tino, too, whispers his name as he takes his soaked fingers out of him and kisses his clit, making him thrash.
Then he darts out his tongue and Tino grunts and groans and his sounds are those of a man, even though what he is tasting isn’t.
He licks it whole, from where his ass starts to the base of his rapidly hardening member, with a flat tongue. His name keeps spilling from Tino’s mouth.
He breathes on it and smells it and swirls his tongue all over it, and when he’s sure he’s teased enough he sucks on the clit and rubs it with his tongue, with all the strength he can muster. Tino’s hands are on his hair, they pull and push him against his squirming hips, his legs entangling on his back to make sure he doesn’t stop.
He nudges the clit with his nose and pushes his tongue into the hole, swirling it inside, then thrusts it in and out. There’s wetness all around him, and the smell of his sex makes him dizzy. His cock is so hard he can’t stand it and it hurts, but he can’t do anything but suck and lick and worship Tino with his mouth.
He slips one finger into him again, never once stopping to swirls his tongue over as much of those wet folds he can, then another and yet another, until he’s fucking him with three violently moving fingers that are knuckle deep with him. Tino’s groans are animalistic, they sound like nothing Berwald has heard before, nothing human, and when he thrusts his tongue in alongside the fingers there is a sound that can only be the rumbling of thunder.
He sucks and even bites at the clit. With the way Tino is thrusting his hips up and screaming himself hoarse he knows he won’t last much longer, and soon enough he can feel his inner walls clenching down on his fingers and imprisoning them.
Under Bergets Rot [4/4]
(Anonymous) 2013-02-23 02:56 pm (UTC)(link)The image of Tino, dizzy from coming twice, still flustered and panting and completely covered in his come will haunt him forever, and it’s a welcome ghost.
They lay in each other’s arms, naked, feeling warmth and home. Berwald whispers things into Tino’s sharp ears. He tells him that he loves him. Tino giggles and kisses him and when he’s sure Berwald is asleep he whispers that he loves him back.
But Berwald isn’t asleep, and soon they are rutting against each other again, and Tino spreads his legs and says, “Take me”, and Berwald gulps, and nods. When he’s at his entrance he looks at the other and remembers his face covered in cum, and he can’t keep himself from thrusting into him whole, but Tino doesn’t mind. He moans and tightens and it’s so wet and warm and perfect that Berwald starts moving.
And they are one.
Tino’s cock presses against his abdomen as they fuck, but Tino says that of he touches it, he’ll come too soon. They talk about love and tightness and size and perfection and beauty, but it’s all whispers and moans and bites and kisses and talking is nothing when you can just fuck.
Then the song of ancient fathers sounds, but Berwald can’t stop.
Tino tells him no, tries to get him to stop, but Berwald hugs him tight and sinks his head into his shoulder and presses in and out and doesn’t care. Tino’s hands clench down on his ears, but it’s late.
Berwald has never been good with words, but these he sings into Tino’s ear in a low rumble, as they were inside of him forever.
He comes as the song is finished and Tino is clenched down on him and covered in his own semen, but he doesn’t get out yet. It’s still warm and nice. But when he leans down for a kiss Tino’s face is wet with tears and his mouth is frozen.
It’s Hel’s mouth.
The sun is up and he stares at the stone roof and Tino isn’t there, and a cold feeling of dread builds up in his chest. He gathers what he can of his clothes and runs.
The tavern is empty, as if there’s never been anything there.
He’s outside and stares onto the mountain. Snow covers the landscape, a snow that wasn’t there the warm midsummer night before, and it’s the deepest of winters.
As he watches the snowfall, he sings the song of ancient fathers, an echo from his lips and from his chest. He sings with the children of the mountain, there, alone.
He is confused and scared and doesn’t know which God to beg for forgiveness.
At sundown he’ll come back.
The only God he’ll need will be Tino.
He’ll steal him away from the tavern under the root of the mountain, he’s sure, and then they’ll run away and Tino can be his wife of his husband or his God, and Heaven and Valhalla and Helheim will just be fictitious terms that have nothing to do with them.
Tino’s mouth won’t be as cold as Hel’s ever again.
He’s sure.
END
Based hugely on this http://www.darklyrics.com/lyrics/finntroll/nifelvind.html#9 and my weird interpretation of it which makes no sense at all but uh. Also, Maybe Berwald is dead. I have no idea. Imagine what you want ;D
Under Bergets Rot [4.5/5]( aka Author!Anon forgot something)
(Anonymous) 2013-02-24 06:00 pm (UTC)(link)Tino cries out his name again, and Berwald imagines that tight force clasping down on his cock, and that does it; as soon as he’s sure Tino is finished coming, he scrambles up to his knees, positions them at the sides of the troll’s chest, fists one hand into his hair and the other on his cock and jerks himself off in his beautiful flustered face.
lol I suck. I also apologize for the ridiculous amount of typos. I just noticed--I was in a hurry when I posted it and I thought that if I didn't post it that very second I wouldn't ever post it and. Uh. Sorry.
Re: Under Bergets Rot [4/4]
(Anonymous) 2013-02-24 11:42 pm (UTC)(link)Re: Under Bergets Rot [4/4]
(Anonymous) 2013-02-26 08:11 pm (UTC)(link)and well, the ending was going to be worse but I didn't have the heart, lol. I actually had planned that Berwald would die, then I didn't want it; then I thought of ending it with them running away and Tino turning to stone with the morning sun, but that was awful too; then I thought about a happy ending, but it was cheesy, so... yeah, this is the best thing I eventually came up with, fff. Thanks for reading!
OP
(Anonymous) 2013-02-25 01:18 am (UTC)(link)thank you SO MUCH for filling this for me, my god!!! it was so perfect and gorgeous and i'm so lucky to get such a wonderful anon!!!
it's so perfect, i love it, thank you. everything about it is everything i always imagined!!! i can't say thank you enough, i'm floored!!!(!!!)
Re: Under Bergets Rot [4/4]
(Anonymous) 2013-02-26 02:00 am (UTC)(link)I don't normally like SuFin but oh my gosh this was phenomenal. You are so talented!
and a Finntroll fan asdkfjh come the fuck over here and let me love you foreverplease please please please fill more. I loved this and it is instabookmarked for me for so many reasons.
Re: Under Bergets Rot [4/4]
(Anonymous) 2013-02-26 08:04 pm (UTC)(link)fellow Finntroll-fan anon, have all of my babies this very instantI am currently on a filling spree
lol get it? like "killing spree" but with "F" I am such a geniusso you will totally see me around. Unfortunately SuFin is sort of my OTP so, uh. ;_;