Best Gay Erotica 2015 (21 page)

“Welcome then, stranger. I answer to Olaf, Olaf of Thur- mingen.”

“Nordus of Alfheim,” he responded carelessly, extending his hand. Balls! Was it Olaf's beauty or the beastly toothache that rendered him a dolt? Olaf's grip was firm, and if he made the connection to the land of the Light Elves, it did not show in his clear eyes.

“May I offer you food, as well?” the yellow-haired Norseman asked.

“That would be most welcome.” Though Nordus was not even certain he could gnaw in his present ill condition. “Will your goodwife not resent another belly to feed?”

A shadow blurred the features of the incredible youth. “Alas, I have no wife. You will, I'm afraid, have to suffer a meal of my own preparation.”

“Gladly!” Nordus gave a broad smile only slightly twisted by pain. And then, amazed at the depth of his hunger and the pleasant taste of the simple fare, Nordus wolfed the food, careful to chew on the left side of his mouth. Nonetheless, the accursed tooth flared.

He learned a little of the handsome Olaf as they sat in front of the small hut. The young man's father, the village smith, had recently passed into the arms of Hel, daughter of Loki, Goddess of the Underworld. Olaf, an apprentice, succeeded his father as blacksmith. No wonder his lithe frame bore an overlay of hard muscle, thought Nordus. As to his single state, his father's lingering illness had cost Olaf time to pursue a certain lass who now belonged to another.

At the fall of darkness, Olaf offered shelter for the night, which Nordus readily accepted. As he lay back against a rude pillow, his jaw pulsed with unbearable pain. He sat up abruptly.

“What is it?” Olaf asked in some alarm from his own pallet.

“I…I forgot myself,” Nordus fumbled for a reply. “I had intended to render a small reward for your kindness.”

“Unnecessary,” Olaf scoffed. “I did not offer hospitality out of a desire for gain.”

“My reward is less venal, more, shall we say, personal.” Nordus rose and crossed the scant distance between them by the light of a single candle. “Much more personal,” he added, lowering his head to meet the open, astonished lips of the comely mortal.

Olaf responded, while Nordus laid aside his aches and pains in the sweetness of the moment. He drew away believing his mission had been accomplished, only to have the traitorous tooth stab his head anew. He had failed! Still, abandoning his usual selfishness, Nordus was almost glad. After all, the youth lying beneath his gaze, his sleeping shift open to expose a strong, pulsing throat, was desirable beyond all things. With a cry, Nordus threw himself atop the stunning Norseman and sought yet a second kiss, a third. Olaf surrendered without resistance, Nordus's tongue invading the willing cavity. Desire raged so strongly that the aching jaw was half-forgotten. His staff rose and pressed against Olaf's groin. Through the furred bed covers, Nordus felt the other's manhood swell as well.

When naked flesh at last met naked flesh, they ceased to think and merely functioned. Nordus tasted the youth from head to toe. Unlike many of his countrymen, who resembled golden bears, the smith had a thick, yellow pelt only at his groin. Nordus sucked greedily just below said patch until Olaf purged a heavy load of seed from his dangling sac.

Glorying in the taste of the nectar, only partially marred by his throbbing tooth, Nordus raised the boy's muscled legs and moved against the firm, rounded orbs. Inflamed by more than a toothache, Nordus ruthlessly stabbed his sword of fertility into the boy's fundament. Pain twisted the beautiful features below, though the youth's face soon cleared. Olaf smiled with apparent joy.

Exultant at the conquest of this mortal masculine beauty, Nordus attacked so eagerly he almost failed to draw the full measure of pleasure from the thing. And then, as Freyr had taught him, he settled into a gentle rhythm he could maintain for a long time. Only when Olaf spewed his seed yet again did Nordus rut with unbridled passion. When his milk of life finally shot from his swollen testicles, Nordus roared his ecstasy for all to hear.

At first, he took Olaf's own cry as one of sensual excitement, but when the boy's hands flew to his jaw, Nordus realized his tooth no longer ached. The molten pain had flowed along with his seed to infect his partner. Nordus drew himself to his feet and raised clenched fists, delighted to be free of the infernal ache!

Now, Freyr, now I can come home!

The former elf's thoughts slid to the beautiful young man writhing before him in pain. Triumph died as something so foreign swelled within his breast that Nordus almost failed to recognize it: regret! Sorrowful that the stupendous smith had inherited his pain and unaccustomed to such selflessness, Nordus helplessly hovered over Olaf.

“Your…your toothache,” the boy moaned. “I have your toothache!”

“Oh, my love!” Nordus startled himself with his own words. “What can I do?”

Olaf sat, bravely attempting to contain his agony. “Pull it! Pry it from my head!”

“That will not do,” Nordus answered slowly, deliberately. “This is not, shall we say, a usual toothache.”

Holding his jaw, Olaf squinted up at him. “Nay, it's a fierce one!”

Anxious to be of comfort, Nordus dropped to his knees before the virile Norseman. “Mayhap we can take your mind from it. When I loved you, I forgot about the ache. Mount me, and perhaps it will do the same for you.”

The miserable boy shook his head. “I am in too much pain. Besides, I have bled my sac twice. I'm not up for more of that.” “Of course you are,” Nordus cooed, pushing him flat on his back, brushing a pink nipple as he gazed longingly upon the impressive staff. Despite the bitter pain, Olaf's long rod firmed until it stood alone and unaided, pulsing wetly in the light of the candle.

Nordus straddled the boy and impaled himself on the magnificent column. The glorious heat of the living sword radi- ated throughout his body, and Olaf's manhood flowered in Nordus's dark recesses. Despite his pain, the blond Norseman began to thrust. Nordus cooed and murmured and moaned in ecstasy as Olaf applied the strength and stamina of a village smith pounding his anvil. Unaided, Nordus spewed his milky seed across the youth's fair torso. At last, Olaf delivered his own load in long, grunting thrusts. Nordus gloried in the sexual fever inflaming his partner until Olaf ceased his efforts and content- edly closed his dazzling eyes of blue.

Nordus gave the weary smile of the truly sated and then winced with sudden pain. Freyr's toothache! It was back! The wily god of fertility had outsmarted him, ensuring that Nordus would not abandon his ruler for a handsome piece of mortal flesh. The humanized elf paced the hut and raged against the fates for half a candle span until his loving companion drew him back to bed and cuddled him into a restless sleep.

Nordus endured horrible pain for an entire fortnight, that and a deepening love for his handsome mate. The two smitten youths passed the divine toothache back and forth, each accepting the agony out of love for the other. Unable to hide the reason for this mysterious affliction, Nordus confessed all, causing Olaf to with- draw in fear as he learned that his enamored was ruled by the gods. But the Norseman could not long deny his love. Accepting this as beyond both his ken and his ability to forego, the youth soon returned to claim his share of both pleasure and pain.

Eventually, the day came when Nordus realized he must return to beg Freyr's mercy. In order to do so, he had to be rid of the toothache, but he was unwilling to abandon the burden to his lover, a realization that stunned the former elf. By the gods, he loved this mortal! Loved him more than…than himself! When Olaf declared his intention of accompanying him, Nordus protested, uncertain over the reception of a mortal in Asgard.

“I don't care what happens, Nordus. I will not be parted from you until Hel calls me to Niflheim.”

“But that may in fact be the ultimate result,” he objected. “And its great hall, Elvidnir, lives up to its name in full measure. It means misery, you know.”

“Then so be it. We will make love now and return the ache to you, but before we cross the Rainbow Bridge, I will take it again so you are free to enter Asgard.”

“Are you certain?”

“As certain as I am that I love you.”

“And I you. That sounds strange to my ears. I have never loved another beyond myself, not even Freyr.” He laid a hand on Olaf's firm, fair chest. Gratefully, he sank to the pallet and accepted the gift of love and the bane of the curse from the most beautiful man on earth and all of the seven heavens combined. Still, it pained him that the glory of their orgasmic culmination was compromised by the hateful torture of Freyr's toothache yet again.

As his mate lay recovering, Nordus nursed his pain and gathered the things they would require for the trip. Then he sat outside the hut and drew runes in the sand: Fehu, the sign of Freyr and his sister, Freya, then the Algiz for protection and defense, and finally Raido, the sign of journeying.

When Nordus explained he was calling on the ancient Futhark for their magical properties, Olaf scratched a jagged lightning streak to beseech Thor's favor. Odin the Allfather was preferred by the warriors and kings of Midgard, while common folk worshiped Thor the thunder god. Nordus permitted his lover's crude scratching, though it was not a proper rune.

After passing the hateful toothache back and forth during the night, the two rose early and embarked on their journey. Although he had easily found his way to Midgard, Nordus was not at all certain he could locate the pathway to the Shining Plain of Asgard. At length, the former elf was forced to admit he had no idea where he was going.

“Simply return the way you came,” Olaf proclaimed in mortal innocence.

“Were it that easy! Things are visible from the firmament that are imperceptible here below.”

“That makes sense, or so the skalds say,” Olaf agreed in good humor. He had passed the terrible ache to Nordus during their midday tumble. “I know!” he then cried in a moment of inspira- tion. “There is a volva at Oskaya. Perhaps she will perform seidr and show us the way. I have enough gold to pay the seeress.” Olaf drew a few small disks of Aegir's fire from his purse. “They are the inheritance from my father.”

“I cannot spend your gold on her. We will find the way. I'll simply try harder.”

“And when you locate the bridge, how will I sneak past Heimdall? They say he never sleeps. He can see in the dark, even hear sheep's wool growing.”

Nordus drew himself to full height. “We will not sneak over the Rainbow Bridge; we will walk onto the Shining Plain as if we belong.”

“You may belong there, but I am a mere mortal,” Olaf sighed.

“Freyr will not deny me!” Nordus declared proudly, wondering if perhaps the ache in his head were not rendering him silly.

Their discourse was interrupted by two filthy toughs, although it was not clear if their offensive odor emanated from unwashed bodies or the poorly tanned skins they wore.

“By the gods!” one swore gruffly. “Have you ever seen such pretties?”

“Nay,” the other answered in a curiously high voice for such a bulky creature. “Which one do you like?”

“Why both, of course,” his companion laughed, a sound like gravel pouring down a hillside.

The second ruffian smacked his forehead with a grimy palm. “By Thor's thunder, ye be right. But I claim the one with hair like the dark of night. Try not to ruin the fair one with your broad blade, for I'll have him as a sweet.”

Astonishing them all, Olaf declared they would be neither main course nor dessert and leapt forward to clap the nearest thug on the ears with both hands. The brute staggered back, palms pressed to his injured organs. Olaf slugged the man in his ample belly, throwing the full weight of his body behind the blow. The brute dropped like a stone.

Nordus, shocked out of his paralysis, did what he had done a thousand times as an elf: he darted between the legs of the other man. Given his present stature, this did not work quite as well as usual. Stuck between the man's foul thighs, he straightened his back and sent the hooligan flying head over heels. The two brutes scrambled to their feet and promptly fled.

Exhilarated, the young swains fell to the ground and made passionate love, uncaring who might be watching. Finally sated, they rose, dressed, and proceeded down the path, hearts beating, pulses racing as one. Nordus was once again in possession of the now-familiar pain of Freyr's toothache since they had twice exchanged juices in the fervor of their excitement.

That night, as they lay beside one another by the glowing embers of a warming fire, Nordus marveled at the sheer beauty of entering his lover once again. Nothing had ever seemed as right, as natural, as satisfying. In spite of his desire to be rid of the terrible ache, he delayed his release as long as possible. When he could no longer deny his orgasm, he sighed happily as his stones emptied into Olaf's gripping channel.

Nordus woke at dawn, disturbed by a strange noise to the north, the rush of a fleet ship loudly parting the waves. That could not be, he thought. After all, the sea lay far to the east. And then he understood. Freyr had sent for him! Filled with excitement, he shook his companion awake. Olaf, groggy from fitful rest because of the toothache, was slow to rouse. By the time he rubbed the sleep from his eyes, a majestic ship appeared on the horizon and rapidly bore down upon them, the crewmen's long oars biting into the wind.

“Magic!” the young mortal cried.

“Aye. A god's magic, Olaf. That is Freyr's ship, Skidbladnir, made for him by my own people to sail the seas, the land, the very air above the gard.”

“It is huge!” Olaf gasped.

“And yet he stores it in his knapsack when it is not in use.” “Magic!” the Norseman repeated in awe.

Nordus stood and drew on clothing to hide his nakedness, although the cool air was a balm to his staff, which was pleasantly sore from the prior night's activity. Who had Freyr sent? Loki, the trickster god? One of the Valkyries, the women who determined which warriors fell in battle? He certainly hoped not.