In the burning ruins of an ancient city, Ragnar Lothbrok's eldest son with his second wife Aslaug, Ubbe, found one lone survivor. A young girl. A girl with deep and dark and red eyes, and hair black as night with a single streak of white.
"Aila." Ha...
Out in he open, cold and exposed, Ivar and Aila lied on the ground, deep asleep. Aila lied on her side with Ivar behind her, his chest against her back and his arms wrapped tight around her smaller frame.
Bright rays of sunlight hit her face and Aila hummed softly. She moaned silently and slowly opened her eyes, squinting and blinking at the bright light. Ivar, nuzzled comfortably in the back if her neck, groaned softly and held her tighter, pulling her closer, if it was even possible. Aila sighed tiredly and closed her eyes. "We should go back."
"Not yet." Boneless palmed her hip and squeezed the soft flesh, running his hand down her thigh. "There is something I want to do first," Ivar whispered quietly, brushing his lips against her cheek and Aila shivered as his warm breath hit her skin. She gritted her teeth and pressed her lips together and moaned quietly at the feeling of Ivar tracing the tips if his fingers up the exposed skin of her thigh. "something I have always wanted to do."
The sound of the soft moan filled Ivar's ears and he winced through gritted teeth as he felt his breaches growing tighter.
"I meant it." Said Boneless and rolled on top of her, his chest against her back. Aila lied on her front, eyes closed and at bliss as Ivar slowly slid the wine red dress off her, undoing the laces on the sides of the dress and pulling it down her shoulders. He placed a kiss on her bare shoulder and pulled the dress further down, feeling his skin tingle as he touched her all over, grazing his fingernails down her waist and her thighs, Ivar squeezed the soft flesh and felt a small and satisfied smirk spread across his lips as Aila gasped and reached her hand back, placing it above his.
The dress was in the way. He wanted it off of her.
"I meant what I said." Ivar panted with his lips against the side of her neck, suddenly feeling breathless. "I meant it." He breathed.
"Ivar," Breathed Aila and gripped his wrist as he ran his hand up her waist. "please . . ." She begged and turned her head to look at him. Aila shivered, naked and exposed out in the cold, and moaned softly.
*
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{That gif kills me every time}
Ivar gazed up at the slowly darkening skies, breathless and with a small smile on his lips.
He felt good.
Ivar felt something he had never before felt, not even when he had spent that damned night with that servant wench Margrethe. No . . . with her it was nothing. With Aila, however . . . it was different.
Still lying on his back, Ivar turned his head to the left. Milk white teeth bared as the corners of his lips twitched into a wide smile. Ivar rolled over and propped himself up, looking down at a breathless and exhausted Aila, Ivar palmed her cheek and the smile faded into a small one. Ivar traced his thumb across her lower lip, not saying anything. "What?" Aila rolled over to her side and smiled, still panting. "Is Ivar Ragnarsson speechless?" She laughed softly and reached her hand out, cuppings his cheek and Ivar leaned against her palm and placed a kiss on her wrist.
