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The palace of Kyiv loomed on the skyline of the city and intimidated onlookers with its grandeur. It was greater even than the meadhouse of Ragnar Lothbrok that had become the palace of Kattegat. There was no central section with a hearth that led off to briefly partitioned rooms under the sloping eaves of a longhouse, but a maze of different rooms that all seemed to lead into each other, arranged around two courtyards. Ivar's first thought about it had been that it must be a tiresome task to heat.
It was a building made for sneaking up on other people or hiding from them, and Ivar did both. Unfortunately for him, Oleg was adept in doing the same.
"Are we playing hide-and-seek?" Oleg's deep voice had the edge of laughter, but he was mercurial in temperament, and Ivar was not naive enough to think that he would be merry even the next minute, never mind the hour. "I have not seen you since yesterday."
"We can, but I warn you, I am very good." Ivar leaned against the wall and smiled at Oleg so as not to betray his displeasure at being caught. "I used to hide from my brothers all the time as a child, and I was rarely caught. But I have no need to hide when my host is so busy he is shut away with his counsellors." Better to suggest he felt neglected at the lack of Oleg's company. Which he sometimes did when Oleg was indeed very busy and Igor at his lessons.
"You will tell me more stories of Kattegat over dinner." That had been a clever touch, thought Ivar. He knew Oleg liked to hear stories of him and his brothers as children, for whatever private reasons he had. "And I will listen to you and talk with you, to make up for so cruelly neglecting you. For you are also one of my counsellors, yes?"
Ivar would have said he was more of a political resource and entertainment, actually. He said lightly: "Then I will give you my counsel."
He often found himself speaking with Oleg like this, in the same manner as he had spoken with Heahmund. Ivar had held Heahmund prisoner then, with iron chains, while Oleg now sought to bind Ivar with thinner ones of gold. But it was the same feeling that provoked him.
Oleg was still smiling at him, which didn't mean he wouldn't later accuse Ivar of trying to esape his company like an ungrateful cur. He was perfectly amiable as he walked and Ivar clumped from the small room in which Ivar had been prepared to claim he was looking for ink, if asked, towards the great hall where Oleg spent most of his time as King.
Winter was approaching Kyiv, and Oleg and Igor had both promised him feet on feet of snow. Ivar looked forward to it as a curiosity. Kattegat lay on the southern coast of Norway, and saw some snow, but far less than what fell in most parts of the country. In England the winters at Torksey and Repton had been much the same.
The fire was roaring in the hearth as always, heating the great hall for Oleg and whoever he chose to receive in there. The guards were waved outside the room and the doors closed. The hairs on the back of Ivar's neck prickled. This was the first time he had been truly alone with the ruler of Kyiv.
Ivar couldn't enter the great hall of the palace without thinking of Oleg taking Katia on the table in front of him. The memory was as well-worn as any of those of his brothers with various women (or, once, a man), but overlaid with different feelings to those secret voyeuristic thrills. It had been natural for him to spy on his brothers, for he had been the curious younger brother too young and then too crippled to experience it for himself. It had been Ivar in control, gathering these private moments unobserved.
But Oleg had fucked Katia and made sure Ivar was watching. Oleg had shown his guest-cum-prisoner what a whole man could do with a woman. What Katia had thought, Ivar couldn't tell. But Oleg had known he was both arousing and humiliating Ivar, and they had both known he was taking as much pleasure in that as he was in Katia's body.
Ivar always thought these things as he carefully arranged his crippled body in a high-backed chair near the fire, letting it warm his right leg, which always hurt more in cold weather. Today he smiled with especial sweetness at Oleg. Best to take advantage of the tyrant's good mood while it was there. Sometimes he felt like a wife living with a temperamental husband.
Thoughts of husbands and wives only returned him to the matter of Oleg and Katia. Oleg was watching him, probably imagining he knew what Ivar was thinking about. In this case, he might well be right. Ivar quashed the itch of embarrassment. Just like Heahmund, Oleg seemed to know things about him he hadn't realised other people could guess.
"I wanted to speak with you," said Oleg as he drew up a chair close to Ivar's. He spoke so lightly that Ivar knew it had to be a test.
"I am at your service." Ivar smiled lazily and mentally reviewed his own movements over the past week. He had not met with Dir, except in Oleg's presence; nor with Katia. He knew his eyes often lingered on Katia when their paths crossed, and he did not delude himself that Oleg and indeed Katia herself had not noticed. Hence the performance in this very room. He deliberately did not look at the table.
"You're a strange man," Oleg remarked after a pregnant pause. Ivar could have sworn out loud. He'd done something to offend or unsettle Oleg, and now he would have to soothe the regent's ego. He enjoyed Oleg's company, but his mood swings and paranoia were tiresome.
"So I've been told," was all he said in reply. "Have my strange habits offended you?" Best to get it over with.
"Not offended, no. I'm just...curious." Oleg had pulled his chair up close to Ivar's, less opposite him across the low table than next to him.
This still did not bode well for Ivar. He kept his tone light as he spread his hands and said,
"Ask your questions, and I might tell."
Oleg looked at him with an expression he couldn't place. Intent, maybe. Ivar kept his face and body relaxed. Oleg could smell nervous tension like a shark smells blood in the water.
"You have been my guest for two months," he began. "Two months, and we become good friends, yes? We are alike. You tell me stories of Kattegat and England, and they are good stories. Your father, your brothers, they fight, they drink, they fuck. Like men do in all of Christendom, though they say it is only pagans." Oleg stopped for a deep breath. He looked into Ivar's eyes in that fixed way he had. Ivar often used the same trick himself to unnerve whoever he was speaking to.
"That's true," agreed Ivar in studiedly neutral tones. He was thinking of Heahmund. He couldn't see yet what Oleg was getting at.
"And you spend all your time with them. You practice fighting with them and you all get drunk together. But they have women, and you don't."
Now Ivar could see where this was going. His stomach clenched with dread. His mouth opened, but Oleg was still barrelling on:
"You don't say you fucked a woman. Your brothers enjoy a slave girl or a woman they take on a raid, but you? When you say these things, I think, maybe he is just reticent, a little shy. Maybe he thinks it's crude or boorish to talk about his own prowess. But you don't even bother the serving girls who come to light the fires in the morning or bring you blankets at night. Nor the boys, though we have many who are as pretty as their sisters."
It was like some slow, nightmarish version of his last confrontation with Sigurd, but this time Ivar couldn't just put an axe through his taunter's chest. Oleg drew it out with excruciating leisure.
"Not every man likes to make use of public facilities." He made a vague gesture to convey distaste. Let Oleg think him overly fastidious.
But Oleg continued as if he had not heard the interruption:
"So I thought, maybe this is a man who has no lust in him, who doesn't care at all for that side of life? But that is not the case. You look when a girl bends over to pour wine and her tits nearly fall out of her dress; you can't keep your eyes off Katia. Always looking, never taking part. I fuck my wife in front of you, a wife you find very attractive, and you sit there like stone, like it doesn't move you."
Ivar hated Oleg with an intensity that distorted his vision. His field of view had narrowed to Oleg's face. His heart was pounding in his chest and his breathing was fast. He didn't know what expression he had on his face, but he could feel his upper lip trying to curl into a snarl.
"So I put my mind to it. You know I am called the Prophet, for I know what people desire. And I give it to them, don't I?" This did not require an answer. "I give the people what they want." Oleg's blazing eyes bored into Ivar's. Ivar sat frozen and furious in his seat, stomach churning. His mind worked frantically as he tried to assess the numerous possibilities of what Oleg might be about to offer him - an offer he would not be able to refuse.
"I do not want -" he began, knowing it was in vain.
"You do. Of course you do." Oleg cut him off ruthlessly. "You want, Ivar. Like I want."
That, at least, was true. Power, adulation, love - Oleg craved these things as much as he did. And each man would do whatever he had to do to get them.
Oleg stood up from his chair. Ivar calculated how fast he could slip from his chair and limp or crawl out of the room. Not fast enough. There was nowhere in this place he could escape Oleg.
Then he thought about what he would have to do to kill Oleg. He could do it, if luck were on his side. But then there were guards, more guards, and the whole Rus to get through. What had he put himself through here if not for Oleg's favour? If any other man had behaved like Oleg often did, Ivar would have cut his throat before now.
He didn't put his hand on his knife, though he sorely wanted to. He let Oleg advance on him. He thought about standing to face him. No, better to make him believe Ivar wasn't a threat.
Oleg took one great step and came to a halt just in front of Ivar's chair. He was so close that Ivar could count the whorls of fine silver embroidery on his tunic.
"Don't be afraid," crooned Oleg, like Ivar was a little child or an animal. "Don't be afraid, treasure." And he reached out his hand and put it on the side of Ivar's face, covering his cheek and ear.
For a second, Ivar thought Oleg might snap his neck. Then the implications of his words sank in.
A hot shock ran through him - actually shook him in a little tremor Oleg must be able to feel. He stared up at Oleg and wished he'd got up after all. His stomach drew tight and his throat closed up. Oleg's hand on his cheek was like a brand.
"You haven't done this before." Oleg was still talking to him in that low purr. "I will show you what to do. I will teach you. And you will enjoy it."
He made it sound like a threat.
Ivar's whole being squirmed with a tangle of emotions he couldn't identify. His nerves thrummed. They'd been working up to this, he realised dimly. The way he'd spoken with Oleg, the way Oleg had cast him warm looks, the tension sometimes in their conversations - Oleg had been leading him down this path all along and he, the inexperienced cripple, had had no idea.
Ivar clenched his hands on the carved arms of his chair and stayed very still when Oleg bent his great shaggy head to kiss him.
He had not been kissed by a man before, had barely even kissed women, and the feeling of that huge mouth surrounded by hair was alien to him. For a moment he even thought of his brothers and how they would kiss him when they met or, when he was little, before he was put to bed.
He didn't know what to do, so he stayed awkwardly still and let Oleg kiss him. The strange feelings still swirled around inside him, what he could now recognise as disgust warring with excitement. He was scared of what Oleg might do to him yet at the same time eager to know.
Oleg put one big hand on the back of his neck and parted Ivar's lips with his tongue. A burst of heat flared up Ivar's spine and set his skin tingling. When Oleg's thick tongue squirmed into his mouth, Ivar touched it with his. Oleg drew in a pleased short breath through his nose and attacked more vigorously, thrusting his tongue into Ivar's mouth and licking his lower lip.
Ivar's whole body surged in response. He put an arm around Oleg's shoulders to pull him closer. He felt Oleg smile into the kiss. It was a good thing he hadn't stood up after all, he thought dizzily, else he would have fallen down.
Oleg was making noises in the back of his throat, little soothing noises. Ivar didn't need soothing. It was hot inside his head, throughout his whole body. He still didn't know what Oleg planned to do to him, but he could make a good guess. The final humiliation, just as exquisite to Oleg as what he had done with Katia with Ivar watching.
He wanted to see that again. Oleg and Katia, moving together, and he could imagine himself in the place of either or both at the same time. Oleg had driven Katia to the point of ecstacy as ruthlessly as he did everything else, like she had no other option. She had raked red lines on Oleg's back with her neatly manicured nails when she came.
Oleg put his other hand on Ivar's chest, hot even through his clothes. Ivar let out a little stifled sound. He imagined Oleg undressing him.
He tightened his arms around Oleg and thought a prayer to Freyr to get him through whatever Oleg had planned. The wanting and the fear of humiliation tore him in two. He was aware that he was at a disadvantage, as he always was in anything to do with love and love-making. Oleg had picked a game he knew he could win. Typical.
Oleg's fingers dropped to pull impatiently at the belt of his tunic. The desire to struggle rose up in Ivar like panic in his throat. He quashed it. He couldn't bring himself to help Oleg, who in any case made short work of the clasp. The belt slithered to the floor. Ivar heard his own heartbeat in his ears.
He didn't need to do that, pointed out the part of his brain that always stayed rational and detatched. He only needs your trousers down to arse-fuck you.
Ivar knew how it was done, of course. He had seen it being carried out on defeated enemies and captives. He'd insulted Sigurd sometimes with the possibility, though it had just been something to say and he'd had no proof that his brother let men do anything shameful to him. Ivar had made it his business to find out what he did do with the serving boys he took to bed, the same as he'd learnt the theory of women, so to speak, from watching his brothers with Margrethe.
Sigurd, in response to Ivar's goading and after his own failure with Margrethe, had replied that Ivar ought to be asking for advice, since being arse-fucked was the only sexual satisfaction he was likely to achieve. The argument had promptly devolved into a brawl.
If the dead in Valhalla were able to look down on Midgard, Sigurd must be laughing himself sick right now.
Oleg pulled back from the kiss. Ivar searched his face for some clue to his devising. But Oleg was still giving him that lustful look that made him burn inside.
"You're so shy," Oleg murmured. "Don't you like it?"
Ivar couldn't honestly say if he did or didn't. He tried to adopt a suitably compliant expression. If Oleg were excited by inexperience, inexperience was what he would get.
Before he could force himself to simper and promise Oleg that he liked it, Oleg ran a hand up his bare back underneath the loose tunic. Ivar shuddered under the touch. Not unhappily.
"Like a cat being stroked," Oleg told him smugly. "I have seen you stripped to the waist before, so you needn't be shy."
And he took hold of Ivar's tunic and briskly pulled it up so Ivar had little choice but to let the Prince of Kyiv strip him.
The tunic joined its belt on the floor. Ivar stared at Oleg, who met his eyes for a long burning moment, then dragged his gaze down Ivar's heaving chest. It felt like a physical weight, like Oleg was using his hand not just his eyes.
"Am I to be the only one undressed?" Ivar ventured. The difference between them was a little too stark.
Oleg smiled at him.
"So eager to see, eh?" And Oleg made short work of his own richly embroidered tunic.
While Ivar had powerful shoulders born of a lifetime of hauling himself round with his arms, he still had the build of a youth. Oleg had the solid body of a mature man. Ivar realised he didn't know for certain how old Oleg was. Ivar was used to being the youngest without considering himself too youthful, and the difference between them had not seemed so great until they undressed.
He had often seen men stripped to less than what Oleg now wore, and yet Oleg's bare chest exerted a fascination over him. Oleg was scarred, marked and hairy, which only increased his resemblance to a bear.
Oleg leaned down to kiss him once more. It was easier with Oleg kissed him, for he didn't have to school his expression or think of clever things to say, only learn this new skill as Oleg taught him it. He was still woefully out of his depth, and Oleg knew it.
Ivar put his arms around Oleg's neck as he had seen women do to men they were enticing. Oleg's bare back was unexpectedly warm under his hands, and it heaved with every breath he took. It made Ivar think of riding a horse and being able to feel the beasts' flanks moving as it breathed. He felt about as insecure, too.
But it was exciting. Oleg knew exactly what to do and how to make it feel good, and he kissed Ivar without any hint of revulsion. He put his great hand on Ivar's chest and Ivar almost jumped. The hand burned and sent shocking heat right through him.
It was tempting to let himself think that this was all Oleg intended to do to him. That maybe he could be satisfied with having exposed Ivar's inexperience and thinking Ivar didn't tumble serving girls because he craved a man's domination. Let him think that, even though it burned Ivar's pride sorely - the truth was worse. Maybe Oleg would leave him like this after a few more kisses, thinking he could hook Ivar with unfulfilled desire.
The kiss broke. They were both breathing heavily. Oleg murmured in Ivar's ear:
"I won't tease you any longer."
Every part of Ivar's body drew tight and hot with a combination of fear and arousal.
Too late to say he didn't want it. It had been too late by the time he stepped into the room, probably. Oleg would have been planning this for days to cut off every possible escape.
Ivar entertained the idea of trying anyway. Of shoving Oleg away roughly and saying he didn't want it, he wasn't like that, and he'd cut Oleg's dick off if he tried that again. His body had already given him away, but Oleg didn't have to believe it, at least not now.
But he wasn't fast enough to reach the door before Oleg. And his eating knife, the only weapon he had on him, was attached to his belt, on the floor, out of reach. If he refused, Oleg could simply take him by force. And he would.
He flinched away when Oleg touched the belt of his trousers. To cover it, he reached for the fastenings of Oleg's trousers instead. He wanted to see Oleg naked again. He wanted that whole powerful body.
Oleg seemed all too pleased to shed his clothes with Ivar's help. He bent to kiss him again and Ivar could feel his smile as he found Ivar's tongue thrust aggressively into his mouth. Oleg let out a pleased little grunt and returned the kiss fiercely. Ivar stroked his bared hip, hairy thighs, but shyness or modesty he hadn't realised he had kept him from touching what was between them. He was still cautious of what Oleg might do to him.
Kissing with open mouths and tongues was objectively disgusting, and it always looked like one party was trying to eat the other's face. Ivar now understood why people did it anyway. Whenever Oleg's slick tongue stroked his, a bolt of sweet lightning went through him. His skin prickled and his groin ached. He squirmed in his high-backed chair.
"Whatever you're going to do, do it quicker," he gasped into Oleg's mouth. That got a deep, surprised laugh.
"You will have to let me undress you," Oleg pointed out. "Don't be shy, treasure." He stroked Ivar's clothed thigh, high up near his hip. "I have seen you at the bath. The heat helps with the pain, I think?" His hand slid down over the braces to Ivar's bony knee. He pulled back a little to look into Ivar's face. He was completely naked.
Ivar had deliberately gone to the bath very late so that he would not be observed. The servants had had orders not to let anybody in - but Oleg could contradict them. More unnervingly, Ivar had had no idea he was there.
Ivar also wasn't used to people touching his legs. The idea that Oleg might see them was unthinkable. Even through the braces Oleg's touch was heavy. Proprietorial. Oleg, being naked, ought to be more vulnerable; but it was Ivar who knew himself to be at a disadvantage.
"You can do it from behind," he said abruptly. "That doesn't need you to see my legs."
"Take off the braces," Oleg countered. "Your legs will still be covered."
It was the best offer he was going to get. Ivar reluctantly bent to unfasten the metal braces. Even though they let him walk, after a fashion, it was still a relief to remove the weight from his legs at night. Even the heavy padding around his lower legs couldn't ease the soreness.
He worked on one, and Oleg knelt to unbuckle the other. He felt unnerved to have someone else touch his braces and take them off him, a task with which he'd never let anybody help him, not even servants. No doubt Oleg liked that. He also no doubt liked that Ivar couldn't keep himself from glancing at the powerful naked body before him. His gaze kept getting caught on Oleg's red, thick erection. Looking at it sent a pulse of arousal through him he knew was unmanly and shaming, but he couldn't stop.
He sighed when his twisted legs came free of the metal supports and the discarded braces were left on the floor. Oleg was watching his face, and Ivar condescended to give him a drowsy smile. He felt light without the heavy metal braces and even the lingering soreness in his wasted lower legs couldn't distract him from the intensity of desire that gripped him.
Oleg looked him slowly up and down. Ivar's whole body thrummed with awareness of Oleg's heavy gaze. What did he see? With his legs covered and without the metal braces, it was tempting to think Ivar might pass for a normal man.
For a minute he thought Oleg might fuck him on the table just like he had fucked Katia. But instead Oleg pulled at him until he slid from his chair to the floor and onto a fur rug that had been keeping Oleg's feet warm. It was large, sewn of the pelts of two wolves, and it held the pair of them.
Oleg was considerate where of he lay on Ivar and didn't put his full weight on his frail legs. But Ivar could well feel a lump digging into his thigh, and he had woken up with enough of his brothers' morning erections inconveniently poking him that he knew exactly what it was. His imagination conjured up lurid images of Oleg's dick, glimpsed during the public consummation and much thought of since. It would hurt, surely, if he put it inside him.
If. He must consider the possibility - no, the likelihood. The idea both repulsed and intrigued him. It was dishonorable, and to let Oleg do it to him would be to accept his submission to the Prince of Kiev - a further emphasis on his subordinate, precarious position in the palace.
But Oleg had promised him that he would enjoy it. And Ivar believed him. He had thought he would never experience what Oleg was now offering him - could not experience something normal people thought of as an ordinary pleasure that could be shared, could not even take it by force.
And he was enjoying it, or his body was. He wanted Oleg's great naked body against his. He wanted Oleg's kisses which seemed to have the power to send him outside himself. He wanted Oleg to touch him with sexual desire and intent, which nobody else had done.
Oleg kissed him brutally and Ivar responded at once. Oleg was rough with him, his fingers no longer stroking Ivar's arms but pinching his nipples. It turned him on. He hadn't known it would do that. It hurt but felt good at the same time. Each pinch sent a zing of pleasure straight down his spine.
Oleg smiled cruelly against Ivar's mouth as he felt him respond.
"Thought you'd like that," he murmured. "Knew you liked it rough." He savagely claimed Ivar's mouth once more. Ivar gave as good as he got. Every aggressive thrust of their tongues sent heat flowing through him.
He did like it. The violence, the control. The same way watching Aelle undergo the blood eagle had excited him so much that he'd almost come right there without touching himself. He'd caught Hvitserk's eye and seen the same desire reflected in his brother. Hvitserk had gone off to find a willing girl, or maybe just Ubbe; but if he'd come towards Ivar and done to him what Oleg was doing now, Ivar would have gladly dishonoured himself and let his brother fuck him on his belly like a whore.
Just the memory made him randy. Ivar dug his nails into Oleg's back to encourage him, like he'd seen Katia do. He needed Oleg to do something. He wished more than ever for a cock that worked like a whole man's.
Oleg raised his head. His mouth was red and wet from kissing Ivar, from Ivar's teeth. He looked at Ivar like he'd looked at Katia.
"Aren't you handsome," he murmured. It didn't require an answer. "You want it on your belly? Roll over." Ivar did so, awkwardly. Oleg's hands were all over him, hot as fire against his bare back.
Ivar didn't like not being able to see what Oleg was doing, but this was the only position in which he didn't have to undress to reveal his legs. He kept thinking of Oleg calling him handsome.
Oleg wrapped his arms around his waist to undo his belt, and it took all Ivar's concentration not to flinch. He held himself up on straining arms.
Oleg laughed, a dirty little laugh, when he felt the tension in Ivar's body.
"Shy, aren't you? If I didn't know better, I'd say you weren't enjoying this."
And finally, finally, he groped Ivar's soft cock through his trousers. Ivar held his breath and gritted his teeth. It felt good, his cock was so sensitive, and he desperately wanted to touch it himself. But pleasure warred with humiliation.
"Don't be nervous," Oleg crooned in his ear. "Or maybe - this is what you were so nervous about? Hm?"
Ivar stayed silent, knowing he was incriminating himself. Not only a cripple, but an impotent one too. It would only have taken so long for Oleg to figure it out. He hated Oleg again. It did nothing to diminish the desire burning through him.
Oleg kissed the shell of his ear and finally succeeded of ridding Ivar of his belt, which let his trousers slip down to bare his arse. But Oleg took his soft cock in hand, cupping and stroking it. Ivar shivered. If only Oleg would do it properly he could come, a few strokes would be all it would take.
"Poor Ivar. Twenty years old, and he can't fuck a woman. You don't just want a man, you need one." Ivar bared his teeth as Oleg said this. He was right, and that made it sting all the more. But he was here on the floor of Oleg's hall in the palace of Kyiv, lying on his belly with his arse exposed for Oleg's erection, and he'd let it happen. It was shameful, it was unmanly, and he would let Oleg do it to him because no-one else had ever wanted to.
The saliva-wet touch of Oleg's fingers to his hole made him jump.
"We need to make you wet, like a woman," Oleg explained. Ivar flinched at the comparison, though he hated giving Oleg the satisfaction. He swallowed and held still as Oleg's finger traced the tight hole. It was sensitive in a way that wasn't good or bad. Then the blunt tip of Oleg's thick finger pushed in and that did feel strange. Not painful. Just like it shouldn't be there, existing as a finger in his arse.
The finger withdrew. Ivar kept his breathing steady. His body still thrummed.
The finger returned, dripping with something that felt like oil. Ivar had no idea where Oleg had got it from. It did make it feel better when Oleg plunged it inside him again, though - or maybe he'd just got used to it.
Oleg's finger stroked his inner walls. Ivar hadn't realised he might be sensitive there. It felt weird, but good-weird. He found his breath coming shorter. Being fucked by Oleg was still almost beyond imagining, but this was his first inkling that the truly frightening thing about it was not the pain, but the intimacy.
"I knew you would like this," Oleg murmured in his ear. "I knew what you wanted from me when you didn't know yourself."
Had he wanted this? He had wanted something from Oleg, the same as he had wanted something from Heahmund that he hadn't understood at the time. To touch his strong, whole, virile body, to watch him fuck a woman, to torment him so he would cast that melting look at Ivar. He had masturbated to thoughts like these, but never to imaginings of what Oleg was doing to him now. He was embarrassed by his own childish self-delusion.
"I'll give you what you want, treasure." Something hot pressed between his arsecheeks. It was the length of Oleg's cock. Oleg rubbed it there slowly, back and forth, and Ivar couldn't catch his breath. It felt huge. It surely wouldn't fit. It would hurt him, tear him.
Oleg fumbled behind him and the tip of it was pressed to his hole. Ivar couldn't keep himself from flinching. Stupid, to be so afraid of pain.
Oleg was breathing heavily in his ear.
"Don't make me wait."
Carefully, consciously, Ivar relaxed.
The head of Oleg's cock breached him and it felt strange. Then more was pushed in, and it felt stranger but also suddenly good. Ivar's breath hitched and he held tight to the wolf pelt beneath him. His cock ached between his legs.
"Good, yes?" Oleg's breathless question didn't expect a response. He let his cock slide out of Ivar a little, then steadily pressed it back in. The motion made Ivar's eyes roll back in his head. Fuck, he was so full. Oleg's cock felt huge inside him, enormous and throbbing with his pulse.
He moaned into the furs as Oleg thrust into him all the way, sheathing that great cock inside him all the way to the hilt so the hair at his groin was pressed against Ivar's backside. Ivar couldn't even speak. It was like Oleg's dick had squashed all the air out of his lungs and there was no room. His whole body was alive with the feeling of exquisite fullness.
This was why men did this. This was why there were jokes about old men bending over for an arse-fucking to attain sexual satisfaction. Because it felt like this.
Oleg worked his cock in and out in slow steady rolls of his hips, keeping it mostly buried inside Ivar. Ivar whimpered and couldn't pretend he wasn't making embarrassing noises. Oleg's dick kept rubbing at something that felt like it was touching his cock on the inside, and Ivar knew without a doubt that if he kept it up, he'd come just on Oleg's cock, like a woman.
He was distantly aware of how they must look: him on his belly, Oleg between his thighs, and the sounds their bodies made as they fucked. Undignified, even faintly comical. You found rude graffiti of this act carved into any wooden surface in Kattegat, made by the bored or dirty-minded. There were even a few where the participants were labelled. Ivar had burned with shame when he'd found one where the figure getting fucked had his name next to it.
Oleg panted and groaned in his ear. Animalistic, disgusting - desperately arousing. Ivar twisted beneath him, seeking some kind of release from the unbearable pleasure inside him that built and built and had no outlet. He couldn't control his body. He couldn't contain his voice.
He whimpered as Oleg drove him higher and higher and his thrusts got faster and harder. He was going to come, fuck, he was going to come. His soft cock was trapped between his belly and the fur and every thrust of Oleg's rubbed it, but more important was the thing inside him, whatever it was, that Oleg's huge cock stroked on every thrust and drove him crazy.
He couldn't believe it til it happened. His whole body drew shuddery-tight and his cock, his balls, his whole abdomen felt full of buzzing agonising pleasure. And then it all unwound as he come, soft untouched cock pulsing out come on the wolf-skin rug.
Oleg swore and fucked him harder. His thrusts seemed to prolong the orgasm as they kept ramming inside him against that special spot that made him feel like the top of his head was going to come off. Ivar's eyes rolled back in his head as the shocks of pleasure continued to roll through him, so tight it was almost painful.
At last he crumpled onto the wolf pelts. His shaking arms could no longer hold up his torso. His face pressed into the musky wolf-smelling rug and he let Oleg hammer his hips. It still felt good in a deep, aching way. He was completely drained. Fuck, he'd never come that hard or that long before, even at his most sexually frustrated.
Oleg growled and changed the rhythm of his thrusts, making them deeper and harder. Ivar shuddered in overstimulated pleasure as Oleg started to come inside him with his fingers digging cruelly into Ivar's hips.
Oleg had the manners to collapse to the side rather than on top of him. A broken bone would have been a very unfortunate end to proceedings. Ivar let Oleg roll him onto his back as they both caught their breath. He wouldn't be able to walk back to his bedroom, not even with his crutch. His shaking legs wouldn't support him. No doubt Oleg would enjoy watching him crawl.
Oleg was still looking at him in that greedy way. It made Ivar glad he'd avoided taking off his trousers. He couldn't have borne seeing Oleg's expression when he got a good look at Ivar's mangled legs.
Bad enough that Oleg's gaze stopped on his genitals. Ivar fought the urge to squirm. He was hardly modest about anything but his deformity - he'd grown up bathing and sleeping with four older brothers - but he'd never had anyone look at his nakedness like Oleg was doing.
Oleg traced two fingers down Ivar's belly, making him flinch - that tickled. After a moment he realised Oleg was examining the come smeared there. He hadn't realised so much semen had come out of him, but it felt like there was a lot. That would be nasty when it dried.
"Getting it up the arse can make a man release like this," Oleg explained. His hand slipped lower to fondle Ivar's cock proprietorially. "You see? You don't need this." Oleg gave it a little squeeze for emphasis. "We could cut this off and make you a eunuch. All you need is a man to stuff you."
Ivar was willing to forgive him for this talk only because he'd just come so hard he couldn't feel his legs. His curiosity got the better of him. "Have you ever let a man do that to you?"
The question could have provoked Oleg to fury, despite what they'd just done. Giving an arse-fucking was very different to receiving. But Oleg, ever mercurial, only smiled at him and said,
"Yes, when I was much younger. Younger than you. That's how I know how to make it feel so good." He let go of Ivar's cock and started stroking his hair instead. Ivar realised with an edge of hysteria that this was pillow talk.
"Your modesty does you credit," said Ivar dryly. This did not cover up that Oleg was, in fact, very good at it, and they both knew it. "What a man is Prince Oleg: he drinks like a fish and fucks like a stallion." If Oleg was going to give back-handed compliments, he would get the same in return.
"Mm." For a moment Ivar thought Oleg was about to continue the theme and tell him he'd taken it like a mare, at which point Ivar would simply have to kill him. But he only tightened his arm around Ivar's waist and smiled at him.
Ivar, still pleasantly drifting on a cloud of post-orgasmic bliss, smiled back. A new, exciting and confusing vista opened up before him. This would not be the only time Oleg fucked him. Ivar could see sex being incorporated into their little power games. And there was still the matter of Katia, which he was not naive enough to think Oleg had forgotten about or forgiven.
Life was a game of tafl, Ivar reminded himself. You had to think ahead. You had to think of what your opponent was going to do before he thought of it himself. There was no reason it shouldn't be the same with sex. It would simply take practice. Getting used to Oleg's touch. Learning to think through unbearable pleasure as well as unbearable pain.
"My treasure." Oleg's voice was muffled against Ivar's cheek. A hot little flash of rage ran through Ivar. Oleg thought that because he had fucked Ivar, he owned him. But Ivar had let him think that. And it was in his best interests to let Oleg keep believing it.
And the cracked vessel inside him, where affection poured in but always seeped out, filled again. He was loved, wanted. This was always his weakness. The same, ironically, as Sigurd's, which was why they'd never got along.
Oleg wasn't stupid: he knew what Ivar wanted from him. They were the same. Wanting to be loved, jealous of that love. Ivar thought of the tomb of Oleg's last wife. Yes, it really was in his best interests to let Oleg keep believing that he could control Ivar by making love to him. That was the easy part. The difficulty ahead lay in not letting it come true.