Captured by Vikings (An MMF Bisexual Threesome) (2 page)

Alva saw her only chance and took it, rising and lunging at the man all in one motion, aiming her kitchen knife at his throat, using all of her courage and strength to launch herself through the space between them.

He
laughed
.

At the last moment, he stepped aside, grabbed her wrist, and twisted. Alva yelped in pain, dropping the knife and crumpling to the floor, landing awkwardly on her side.

Right away, she went for the knife that had also fallen, but the man scooped it up, inspecting the thing.

“A kitchen knife,” he said casually. “You’re brave, at least.”

Still on the floor, Alva kicked out, trying to get behind the man’s knees, at least get him to the ground.

He stepped away easily, flipping the knife in one hand.

“She’s
feisty
,” said a second voice.

“I’ve heard that about these Scottish women,” the first man said. “I have to say, she’s the first one to live up to that claim.”

Alva struggled up, her feet tangling in her long skirts. Now the first man had her knife and the other man had his hand on his sword. She was breathing hard, and she knew she couldn’t win — not one unarmed girl against two heavily armed viking warriors.

She ran at the man holding the knife, reaching her hands out for it at the same time that she tried to crash into him with her entire weight.

One of us will go down
, she thought, but she was wrong again. The viking sidestepped and then grabbed her, bringing her close, her back to him, and holding the knife at her throat.

“Do you keep the knives here sharp?” he asked, sounding almost bored.

Alva struggled slightly, but he twisted her arm up behind her back. Pain shot through her.

“We could find out how sharp,” he suggested, and Alva felt the metal bite into her neck, just the tiniest bit.

She closed her eyes and began praying, trying to ignore the tears she felt running down her face.

“She’s pretty though, isn’t she?” asked the other man. He was casually leaning against a table, arms crossed, simply watching the scene unfold in front of him.

“That she is.”

“And spirited.”

“That too.”

“She could come with us.”

“No.” That was Alva, struggling to speak through the hold the first viking had on her.

“No?” That was the viking leaning against the table.

“I don’t want to come with you,” she growled, her teeth grit together against the pain.

“You’d rather die than come with us?” the first viking asked, the one who held the knife to her throat. “Are you so attached to Lord Duncan?”

Alva was still breathing hard, trying to get the words out. The pressure on her neck from the knife lessened, and finally, she could speak.

“That’s not it,” she said, her arm still on fire, still twisted up behind her though not as hard as before. “I’ve been taken before, I won’t be taken again.”

“So
that’s
why a pretty girl was hiding in the pantry,” said the first viking. He let her go and she stumbled out of his arms and against the table, rubbing her neck with one hand. “Was he keeping you for himself?”

Alva looked him in the eyes, not sure what to say or how he knew. She was surprised that they were gentle and brown, a little at odds with his wild blond hair and blood-spattered clothing.

Without saying anything, she nodded.

“Typical,” said the other man.

Upstairs in the big stone house, Alva could hear crashing sounds through the ceiling. Something else was happening, and she wasn’t sure what.

The viking who’d held a knife to her throat stepped forward. Alva flinched away from him, shrinking against the sturdy wooden table as he took her chin in his hand and turned her face toward him. His hand was hard, strong and calloused. She knew that he’d killed many men with it, but somehow, his touch still wasn’t as cruel as Lord Duncan’s.

Alva opened her eyes, slowly, to see two brown pools staring at her.

“This is the deal,” he said, simply. “You can come with us or we can leave you to the others, and I guarantee you won’t like that. But we’ll treat you well enough, and you’ll live. Up to you.”

Until a few moments ago, Alva had been determined to die rather than be taken away by vikings. But now, something had changed. They could have already raped and killed her, fed her body to their dogs, but instead here they were, saying that they’d treat her well.

Alva took a deep breath. She didn’t completely believe that it would be okay with them, but it did sound better than death, at least for now.

“I’ll come with you,” she said.

The big viking released her and smiled.

Alva was seasick for the whole journey back to their homeland, across a sea that was freezing even though it was summer. She’d never been more than a short distance from her home before, and she’d never really given much thought to what lay across the water. What was the point when she knew she’d never see it, and had thought for most of her life that she’d never escape the Lord Duncan’s holdings?

Erik and Thorvald — those were their names — were surprisingly kind to her for the few days that the journey took. The first day she tried to drag herself off of the floor where she lay, wrapped in blankets. She wanted to be of some use to the men, since she knew how tempting it must be to throw a sick girl overboard.

“You’re green as the leaves in spring, girl,” Erik had said. He was the one who’d held a knife to her throat, despite his kind brown eyes.
 

Alva had tried to say something, but her stomach had rushed up and she’d hurried to the side of the boat, throwing up hard.

“I can help,” she’d said when she was back, still nauseous but at least not throwing up anymore.

Both of them had just laughed.

“No one needs help if they’re going to get vomited on,” Thorvald had said. “Go back down, get some rest. We’ll be home in a day, two at the most.”

Alva hadn’t been able to argue and had spent the rest of the journey below the deck of the tiny ship, drifting in and out of a nauseous sleep, constantly afraid she’d be thrown overboard.

Once they were back, Alva was surprised to learn that Erik and Thorvald lived together, alone, despite not being brothers.
 

“Where I’m from, men usually move out when they wed,” she’d told them.

“Is that so?” Thorvald asked. Unlike his friend Erik, he had sparkling blue eyes, and when he wasn’t ransacking villages, he loved to tease Alva. At first he terrified her — every time he’d spoken, she’d been convinced he was going to kill her or worse — but after a week or two, she got used to it, giving back as good as she got.

Her duties with the two viking men were nearly the same as they had been with Duncan: cleaning, cooking, serving them at mealtimes. The difference was night and day, though. When they were served, she sat down and ate with them. They never struck her, even when she once spilled mead all over Erik by accident. She was given a bed, rather than just blankets in the straw.

One day, Thorvald walked into the house, a pile of furs over one arm. Alva looked up from the fire where she was cooking rabbit stew from a rabbit she’d caught in a trap. The rabbit had also been eating her small garden, so it was a double victory.

“Clean your kill outside,” she told him, barely looking up. “I’ve just cleaned in here and I won’t have you mucking it up.”

Sometimes it still shocked her how these men let her speak. If she’d ever spoken like that to Lord Duncan, so directly, without her eyes averted, he’d have slapped her hard enough that she wouldn’t be able to speak for days.

“It’s no kill,” Thorvald said. “Come over here.”

Alva looked over her shoulder and saw that he was holding something up. Clearly, it wasn’t an animal — it was already skinned and finished. She hung the ladle by the hook next to the fireplace, stood, and walked over to where he stood by the door.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Turn around,” he said.

She did, and he laid the cloak around her shoulders. The inside had shorter, denser fur on it, and it felt wonderful even over her worn dress. It came almost down to her waist, and in the summer warmth, she began sweating.

“I see you shivering sometimes at night,” he said. “I know we don’t have much around for a woman to wear, and it’s not like we let you pack.”

“I didn’t have anything to bring,” Alva said. She stroked the soft fur with her hands, wondering what kind of animal it had come from. Fox, perhaps, or rabbit.

“It should help keep you warm come winter, too,” he went on. “I don’t know how they are across the water but they’re brutal here.”

“They’re brutal back home, too,” Alva said. “Or, across the water.”

Thorvald nodded once, then patted her shoulder awkwardly and went back outside into the sun.

The strangest thing about her situation, Alva thought — whether it was slavery or indentured servitude, or whether she was somehow there of her own free will — was that neither of the two men had so much as touched her. In every story about vikings that she’d ever heard, they were barbarians who’d just as soon rape a woman as take a drink of water, as though it came naturally to them.
 

Alva was finding out differently, though. Thorvald and Erik treated her well, just as they’d promised, and never so much as laid a hand on her. In fact, it was beginning to bother her — why were these men, with their reputation for lust and wildness, so uninterested in her?

She began drinking with them at meals, sometimes sitting outside during the long, long evenings, watching the sunset that lasted for hours.

“Why aren’t either of you married?” she asked once. She’d had two tankards of beer, and was feeling a little lightheaded and brave. “All the other men are married.”

The two men exchanged a look. “We’re quite happy the way things are,” Thorvald said.

“But how could you have children?” Alva asked. She wasn’t sure why she suddenly felt so adamant on this point, but she did.

Erik shrugged, and Thorvald said nothing.

Alva narrowed her eyes and took another swallow of mead. Something strange was going on, she was completely sure of it.

That night, Alva got her answer.

Though she fell asleep soundly at first, she woke up a few hours later, sober and suddenly wide awake. She found that she couldn’t fall asleep, no matter how she tried.

Then, she realized she was hearing something.

The entire house that Erik and Thorvald lived in was one room, with the kitchen and the table at one end, their bedding at the other. There was a thin wall hanging between her bed and theirs, but it only blocked sight, not sound.

That meant that Alva could hear grunting and groaning coming from the other side of it.

In the dark, her eyes widened. She’d shared one room with most of the other servants at Duncan’s, and she knew what she was listening to.

“Oh, that’s right,” she heard Thorvald say. Then he let out a long, quiet groan.

Alva clamped both hands over her mouth, absolutely certain that she wasn’t supposed to be hearing this.

There was a wet sound, and then Erik took in a deep breath.

“You like to watch,” he said to Thorvald.

“Damn right I do,” Thorvald said. There were some rustling noises, and then he spoke again. “Turn over,” he commanded, his voice still low and quiet.

“I’ll fight you for it,” Erik responded.

For a long time, all Alva heard was grunting and squirming, the sounds of two men wrestling on a straw mattress.

“I yield,” came Erik’s voice at last.

“Of course you do,” said Thorvald.

There was some more shifting, both men breathing heavily. Alva still lay wide awake, trying her best to lay perfectly still, trying to piece together what was happening beyond the curtain.

Then there was a long, low groan from the men. It sounded like Erik, but she couldn’t be sure.

“Almost,” said Thorvald, sounding like he was speaking through gritted teeth. “Gods, I — ohhhhhh,” he said, his sentence simply ending with a long moan. Erik made a noise as well, sounding like he was covering with mouth with something, trying to stay quiet.

Has this happened before?
Alva wondered.
Have I slept through this?

“Harder,” she thought she heard Erik say, his voice still muffled.

At last, curiosity got the better of her. Between the bottom of the hanging and the floor of the house was about an inch of open space — just enough for her to see, she thought, especially since they simply kept their straw-filled pallet on the floor.

As quietly as she could, she pushed aside her blankets and crawled out of her bed, stopping short every time the straw beneath her rustled at all. She moved quietly across the stone cold floor, lying flat on her belly, putting her face against the floor to peek beneath the curtain.

There was Erik, lying full-out on his belly, the blanket of the bed pressed against his face by his own hand.

And then there was Thorvald, right on top of the other man, his arms one either side as he held himself up. As Alva watched, he lifted himself up, and her eyes went wide as a long, thick cock just barely became visible in the dark.

Then, as Thorvald lowered himself, Erik groaned again, and Thorvald closed his eyes, a look of pure ecstasy on his face.

It took a moment for Alva to realize that she was watching them have sex. She’d heard of such a thing before, of course — there were whispered rumors about men back home, always — but she’d had no idea that it was
real
, that men actually did this, laid with other men as they did women.

Alva’s eyes were glued to the two men, and she found that she couldn’t tear herself away. She
 
knew, deep down, that it was wrong to be watching them like this, that surely they desired privacy, but she couldn’t make herself stop. It was fascinating to watch, and moreover, it made her feel...
something
.

Specifically, the area between her legs began throbbing, almost burning.

She wanted them to do that to
her
, she realized. She’d never wanted anything of the sort before, not really — there had been a cute stable boy at Duncan’s, and they had kissed and touched over her clothes, but she’d never
really
thought of letting him do ...that... to her.