For LureDaUnicorn

Flóki had ignored the looks of the others, as he took (Y/n) through the camp, back to his tent. His eyes, once more focusing on the scars as he allowed her through the opening.

"Do they hurt........the scars.........?" The boat builder enquired, as she looked around his temporary living space.

"No, not anymore. Not physically, anyway. Though I still have dreams, memories, and in them, I can still feel the pain. I can still feel the sting and hear the crack of the lash. Though I try not to dwell in those places, I know it does me no good.........." (Y/n) explained, as she turned to look at the strange Northman. The man whom she had learned was named Flóki, pouring something into a horn cup before handing it to her. A laugh leaving his lips, as she sniffed at it.

He really was an odd man. Not that she had met many Northmen to know whether he was strange for a Northman, but she had to think that the laughter and the peculiar hand gestures were different even with the pagans. Yet she had to say that he had been nothing but good to her. Better than her own people had treated her; those that claimed to be good, that claimed to help others, forcing her to live on the outskirts of the town. The woman that was spoken about in hushed tones when she would have to make her way into the market. So, she wouldn't pretend that she cared that the pagans had burned the church to the ground, with all those people in it. She wouldn't pretend that she would lose a moments sleep. In fact, she hoped they all found themselves in hell, for treating her as they had. For punishing her for being a young woman that had caught the eye of an evil bishop that claimed to be a man of God.

"Its mead........you will like it......" Flóki said, bringing his own drink to his lips, before she followed suit. Another chuckle leaving his lips, as she swallowed the liquid, and smiled.

"Why were you at the church if you no longer believe in the carpenter........?"

"Because I make my way through the graveyard to get back to my home. I was trying to avoid you and the others when one of the hairy oafs caught me and dragged me into the church. That was the first time I had set foot in a house of worship, for years." (Y/n) told him, as she took a seat across from him. Finding herself laughing along with him, as her calling one of the other men a hairy oaf, seemed to amuse him. The breath catching in her throat, as he suddenly leaned forward, and took her chin in his hand; his eyes fixed on hers.

She would say that he was as unusual in looks, as he was in character; yet there was something about him. Something that she couldn't put her finger on. There a beauty there, that was all his own. Yet it was his eyes that truly caught her. That held her. Some unseen force, pulling her to him. A force that had already made her agree to not only let him bring her to the heathen camp; but also to him taking her back to his home, as his. So, what would it hurt if she were to kiss him. She didn't care what those around them may think; she hadn't cared what her own people might think of her, so why should she care about the thoughts of an army of pagans. People that had no idea who she was, or what she had been through. The last time that she had been touched by a man, it had been without her consent, and then she had been punished for it; tortured because a wicked man had taken what he wanted. So, why not let herself find out what it was like when she did want it, when she did want to give herself. For even though this Flóki was a feared and reviled Northman, she had a feeling that he could show her what it was to be with a man. (Y/n) finding herself moving forward, her eyes moving from his, to his lips and back again. The boatbuilder smiling at her, before their lips finally met.

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Flóki groaned into the kiss. He groaned even louder, as he reached out and pulled her to him. (Y/n) coming to straddle his hips. By all rights, he should hate her, she was a Saxon, and even though she claimed to not believe in the Christian god, she had still been raised as one of them. But no matter how much he tried, he could not hate her; he couldn't even feel anger towards her, unlike he did with Athelstan. He could do nothing but want to take her back to Kattegat, to have her join him in his little home. Though at that moment, all he wanted to do was feel how it was to be inside her, to hear her call out his name. It clear that his body wanted the same. Flóki moving up her skirts, so that he could grab her backside; so that he could push her down on his hard cock. (Y/n) gasping, as she suddenly found herself in the air, being carried to a makeshift bed. Flóki placing her down before kicking off his boots and pushing down his breeches, taking his manhood in his hand and stroking himself, before moving in between her legs. It (Y/n)'s turn to moan, as he brushed his arousal against her womanhood. The Saxon waiting to feel him inside her...........

"Flóki. What is this I hear about........" A man began, as he entered the tent. (Y/n) quickly pushing the boatbuilder off her and onto the floor, so that she could cover her body, as the new man made his way further into the tent; crossing his arms and smiling as he looked between the pair. Flóki letting out a laugh, before he jumped to his feet, not seeming to care that his still stiff cock was out for all to see, as he placed his arm around the shoulder of the other man.

"Ah, Ragnar, I would like you to meet (Y/n).............."