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deerly beloved

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There's always a good enough excuse for a party once a town's been sacked, but this time it's Atli's first kill. Not his first ever, but his first real one, delivered clean to an uninjured man. Torgrim had his first not long ago, but he's almost more pleased about Atli's. It's hard for his brother to get one up on him, with them fighting together, and he's made a point of not holding back just so Atli can score his first. No, this is a real one, well-earned and admirable, and it's all he can do not to be too proud in public.

He sneaks Atli off as soon as he can, once the party's dispersing and they won't be the only ones missed. No words pass between them, but they both know well enough what's going to happen, and the house they choose is more or less random. Just far enough from the rest of the band to have a candle or two lit without drawing attention. They're used to the dark, but it's nice being able to watch each other every once in a while.

Besides, Torgrim has plans for tonight. So he's quite pleased with the mattress in this one. This must have been a prosperous little village, once. He'll have to check what the others managed to pick up.

"Bet you're glad we left home now, huh?" he says, right into Atli's ear. "What a rush! And surrounded by men night and day, you must be loving that." It's only in bed he can tease like this. Only because they both know he doesn't mean it. But fuck, it gets them hot in bed. "Must be giving you all kinds of ideas."

"You almost sound like someone who likes to share," Atli says, nudging his head back up and twining arms fondly around his shoulders. "When we both know you don't."

"That's for damn sure." He gives Atli a kiss on the neck. "Only with you, baby brother. Sometimes." Then he reaches into the bag he's been keeping with him all night. "Speaking of which." 

Atli nuzzles at the side of his head while he gropes around blindly in the bag, not quite willing to let go of his brother and look inside properly. His fingers feel their way past bracelets, rings, a nice little statuette of someone with a beard, and finally they hit the object he had to stuff right into the middle, with other things around it to fill out the bag. Something long and hard, with a very distinctive shape.

"Look at this," Torgrim crows, holding it up. "Went poking around the cupboards while you were checking the body."

Atli takes a moment to refocus his attention, but then he laughs. "Someone was too ugly to find a lover."

"Nicest house in the whole village," Torgrim says, still glorying in his find. "I bet she could've convinced someone. Maybe that was him whose head you nearly took off, not her husband."

"No, he was hiding all by himself. He must've been rich."

"Should've asked Mr. Big Shot if he traveled, or if his prick just didn't work." Torgrim laughs. "Could still go back and check his prick, what d'you think?"

"Don't," Atli begs with a shudder. "Please."

"Oh, I'm just kidding, don't get all soft on me."

"It's not soft," Atli says with a touch of acerbity. "I just don't want you touching rotten meat and getting worms."

"All right, all right." Torgrim pauses. "I guess Mr. Big Shot's the only soft one around here, eh?" He gives his brother's crotch another squeeze.

Atli blinks at him for a second, then they're both off laughing, for so long that Torgrim's quite sure now they're a little drunk. And him doing his best not to get whiskey dick on Atli's special night. It doesn't seem to have done either of them any harm, though.

"His wife's little friend certainly isn't having any trouble." Atli wipes his eyes. "And him lying there on the floor getting downright squishy."

"Look at the size of this thing!" Torgrim waves it expressively, traces a circle on Atli's forehead. "Must be antler or something. She wouldn't even have time for a lover with this around."

"Ergi," Atli says dismissively, brushing the dildo off his forehead. "You know that." He's figured out what Torgrim's after by now.

"For her, sure," Torgrim protests. "Who'd say that of you, though? Tonight? It's thanks to you I even managed to loot it. It's almost your property, by rights."

"I'm not sure I want it."

"My property, then. Think of it as me."

"How am I supposed to pretend that's you?"

"Haven't you said often enough that you'd take any length I can give you?"

"That's just dirty talk. It's not the same as actually taking it."

"Atli, come on!" He presses his forehead against Atli's for a moment. "You killed a man! The first of many more to come! What's wrong with having a little fun with the spoils? It's now or never, you know. You can't expect me to keep this around in case you change your mind. It was hard enough hiding the shape in that little bag."

"I should think you've had enough practice at hiding that shape." Then he relents, quite suddenly. He always sees sense in the end. "Just tell me you're not asking me to take all that with spit alone."

"That's my boy." Torgrim rubs his hands together with glee, then reaches back into the bag. "And don't you worry about that. That nice house came with all the modern comforts." He pulls out a little beaker, a grin spreading across his face. "Glass! Can you believe it? For their lubricant! Most expensive liquid in the house!"

"She must've been a very special kind of woman."

"Or him a very special kind of man."

The thought of a man getting down on all fours to be taken up the arse by his wife has them both in stitches again.

"Almost wish we'd talked to them before they went and got their brains all over everything," Atli says. "Gotten their life story."

"I'd have gotten the kill then," Torgrim says. "And where would we be now?" He flips Atli over and undresses him with the ease of long practice.

Nothing wrong with coming back to the tent smelling of sex after a raid, not even with coming back together smelling of sex, so long as there's a woman left behind somewhere. Cum stains on your own clothes are harder to explain. They didn't need to leave home to learn that. So they undress, unless they're in the tent. Half the single-occupant tents get folded up stinking of jizz in the mornings, anyway.

Atli waits patiently, arse in the air, for Torgrim to get his own clothes off and tossed clear of the bed. Unscrewing the beaker gives him a few moments of trouble, but he manages it. It's a handy little thing, but too breakable to be much use for them.

So he uses the whole thing, getting the dildo ready first, then Atli. He always does this for him unless they're really pressed for time and have to get themselves ready separately. It's a nice intimate kind of thing, Atli letting him take care of it, waiting with his guard completely down. Opening up for his big brother even before he gets fucked. And not too close to anything you might do with a wife. Torgrim's always on watch against that.

"There you go," he says at last. "Down on the floor, you'll want to brace it on something." He considers the empty beaker for a second, then tosses it against the wall at the head of the bed. Not much point in its existing if it can't be useful anymore.

"Thought you were going to fuck me with it."

"I'm going to watch you fuck yourself, pet. When else will I get the chance?"

Atli gives it one last look. "You don't think it's modeled on someone, do you? That seems so much more..."

"If it is, I'd hate to meet him on the battlefield." Torgrim hands him the dildo. "It's ours now, anyway."

Ours always gets him. We, us, ours. Anything that reminds him they're the same in the end. He's on the floor before Torgrim can say another word.

"You fight dirty, brother." There's no resentment in his voice, and Torgrim knows there's no need to respond as Atli wraps thumb and forefinger around the dildo for a moment, as if trying to imagine its proportions inside him in advance, then takes a breath and slides it in. Easily at first. Then it comes to a stop. His cock's standing up enough that Torgrim can see the dildo's about halfway in.

"Step one," Atli says, almost to himself. Torgrim gives a slow whistle, just to be encouraging. Atli lifts himself to a sitting position, the dildo scraping against the floor as it makes contact. He lets out a gasp, then presses more deliberately until the end of it is braced solidly against the floor. He looks up to Torgrim. "Well?"

"Like watching Loki get taken by Svadilfari right up his godly twat."

"You think he's got one?" Atli says, a bit absently, riding back up on the dildo.

"Well, he'd have to," Torgrim says. "It's in the story."

But Atli's hardly listening, and who could blame him. He comes down again, trying to take more of its width in. The way he's biting his lip makes Torgrim want to kiss him, but they don't do that. Not there. The urges come, and they go. This one goes, too.

Looking more closely at the dildo, Torgrim sees something like a set of balls down at the bottom. They're flat enough on the bottom that it can't go sliding around on top of a hard surface. It's a real marvel, what money can buy these days. He wonders if the original owner could get all the way down to those balls or not. Must be uncomfortable to sit on if you can only get it halfway in.

Atli's doing fairly well with it, for his part. It's always a tossup whether booze will help or hinder, but right now it seems to be helping. Getting him relaxed behind without softening him in front. He's always been good with his legs, and he's using them now, both to help lift himself up and to keep himself from dropping too fast.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Torgrim watches carefully, drinking in the sight. He doesn't get to see his brother move like this, totally separate from him, all that often. It's even more exciting than watching him kill a man. He almost speaks, but holds himself back. He doesn't want to distract him while he's in the middle of something this delicate. It's only when it's all the way in and Atli looks up at him for praise, a blush creeping down to his shoulders from the effort and arousal, that Torgrim says anything.

"There you go," he says. "I knew you could do it. Come on now." He pats the inside of his thigh encouragingly.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Little treat for you. All part of the plan."

"Sounds more like a treat for you."

"Listen, when are you gonna get a chance like this again? Both holes stuffed at once? We'd have to get a corpse for that, usually."

But Atli's already moving toward him on hands and knees, a grin on his face. Such a doting little brother. He's lucky he's got Torgrim to dote on, instead of someone who might not have his best interests in mind. "I'd rather this than a corpse's anything up the arse, thanks." He settles between Torgrim's legs and holds himself up on the very edge of the mattress, biting his lip again and closing his eyes as he gets seated with the dildo inside him.

As Atli's lips close around the glans, he gives Torgrim's gut an appreciative nudge from below. It's starting to hang down on him when he sucks cock, but he doesn't seem to mind. The only problem is it does hide the view more than it used to.

Still plenty to feel, though.

"Gods, I want to show you off sometimes." He brushes Atli's face with his knuckles to feel the flush of his cheeks. Atli makes a soft humming sound, his head following Torgrim's hand up for a second before returning to his work.

Fucking flawless, every time. Never leaves the balls alone a moment too long. It's what comes of knowing each other so well. Torgrim lets himself enjoy the brief fantasy of having the rest of the band watch his brother's mouth do its stuff. Then he lets the image go. Some treasures just aren't meant to be public.

It's a shame he can't see the dildo anymore like this, but this is Atli's treat, after all. And he can feel his brother more unsteady on his knees than usual, feel the little catch at the back of his throat when the length of polished antler inside him hits just the right spot. He's learning how to move against it as he goes. Torgrim holds his own legs firm so Atli has his thighs to cling to.

"Good boy," he whispers, tracing the outline of his own cockhead where it stretches out Atli's cheek. "Nice and full. My brave Atli."

He feels the contented exhale warm on his skin. There's no one can accuse his baby brother of unmanliness, he makes sure of that, but Atli needs him and he likes it that way. He could get by alone, not that he cares to try, but not Atli. Not without big brother there to guide him.

It might be a strange arrangement in the eyes of others, but they get by, each of them half the other's being beneath the skin. The laws of men only apply when you slip up, and he hardly thinks the gods have room to judge. Some of them do it themselves. Besides, who has the time to judge humans when they're running around taking it in every hole from mighty stallions?

Torgrim wonders uneasily if that thought might lead to bad fortune ahead, but Loki seems like the type who can take a joke.

He's definitely a little drunk if his thoughts are wandering this far afield. Torgrim gives himself a shake and returns to Atli's fingers digging into his thighs, Atli's tongue moving against the sides of his cock, Atli's hand slipping over to his balls every now and then. To the little noises of pleasure starting to travel right into his cock through Atli's mouth. And it's more than enough to think of, for a while.

When he feels the tremors starting to shake his brother's body, he knows it's time. Much sooner than usual, but it's no wonder with something fucking him up the arse every time he moves. Torgrim puts a gentle hand on the side of Atli's head, thumb stroking his cheek. "There you go," he says. "It's all right. Let go."

He pulls Atli up trembling onto the bed, glassy-eyed and weak-kneed, gets the dildo out of him—it comes slower than expected but he's careful—and checks his hole for any damage. It's going to be red for a while, definitely, but his brother knows how to take things up the arse safely by now. A little chafing from the antler-balls where he didn't bother lubing the thing up, but nothing serious. Not that anyone would ever see something serious except for him. Torgrim chuckles and wipes up the mess of lube with the corner of a pillow. Little decorative thing, probably the most use it's been in years.

"So," he says when Atli's breathing more normally. "How's your evening been?"

"Good," Atli says. "It's been good."

"Thought so." He pulls his brother close and ruts against his thighs and belly—small, but Torgrim likes what there is of them—until he finishes. Atli curls around him when he's done and sighs with satisfaction, letting their sizes fit together perfectly as always, his body giving where Torgrim's pushes.

They lie for a while on the borrowed mattress, getting their strength back. Torgrim lets Atli give him a few kisses on the chest in honor of the special occasion, but after four he starts to get antsy and sits up. Atli follows, more slowly.

"You've been sick," Torgrim says, getting his clothes back on. "Food at the party disagreed with you, diseased cow or something. Don't forget."

"More like a very healthy deer." 

Torgrim spares the dildo one last glance. It's a shame to leave it behind, but he might as well start checking bedrooms more carefully after this. He offers his arm. "Come on, you won't be walking steady after that. They've got a nice enough bed here but we can't get caught sharing it."

His brother's dressed himself all right, but he takes the arm anyway. "Tent's better anyway. It's nice, knowing I'm breathing in your breath." Atli gives him a quick look, nervous suddenly. "That's not soft, is it?"

"Can't be," Torgrim says, giving him a reassuring squeeze with his other arm. "I like it too."