TW: Smut, use of inappropriate language, mentions of an affair, slight mention about choking, slight idea of breeding kink.

Eoferwic, Northumbria
 

You stare at the wooden ceiling of your room, listening to the Saxon man that is preaching outside the window and Sigtryggr, beside you, mumbling and holding a pillow over his head. His long locks of soft brown strand themselves around.

"You can't stand them, can you?" You ask.

"Stand what?" He grunts, still trying to make himself comfortable. You glance over.

"The Saxon sermons."

"What good is God to them?" Your husband says under his breath. "The Saxons use it like a weapon."

"It is their faith. Just as it is my own." You say, arms crossed, back against the headboard as you sit in an upright position.

Sometimes he was so insensitive. He had taken you as his Christian bride after being a hostage in his siege on Wessex and that of King Edward. It was like Sigtryggr still didn't know how to accommodate you and your faith.

"So do Danes and their gods." You retort.

"We do? Well, that's different." He sits up with you, looking annoyed. You sigh at him.

"Fine." She doesn't want to argue with her husband.

"We Danes have faith in the gods, but we don't do what the Saxons do. We don't shove it down the throats of foreigners; or of anyone else."

"Fine." You repeat, turning in the bed as you lay.

"Are you upset?" Even in the moonlight, Sigtryggr can sense a change in her mood.

"We are too different." You mumble aloud.

His tone turns serious. "You know that I care about you, right?"

"You are a Dane."

"And that bothers you?"

"Yes. I am a Christian. You do not like Christians."

"I don't like their religion," He clarifies, "but that isn't enough to stop me from loving you."

"And how could I love a man who does not care about my people or my King?"

"The King, that Saxon?" Sigtryggr sneers. "In Eoferwic I am King."

"You cut down Saxon men in battle. I let you bed me when you leave those fields and dismount your horse. My people." You scoff. How could she let this happen? Had she been so blind?

He can't help but wonder if the situation would be reversed, had he been a Christian and her a pagan.

"Aelswith thinks I am a whore." You mention. It was something Aelswith had said the last time you were in Winchester. You had been speaking with Edward about Mercia and the Ealdormen when his mother stopped you in the hall.

"What?" He turns to his wife, leaning on his knee.

"Aelswith said that God resents me for letting a Dane bed me." You whisper.

"Her thoughts are not those of God, and you are no whore. I swear that." He murmurs. "Does she not keep in touch with her own daughter? The Lady and Uhtred hump."

"I worry." You sit up again. You lean on his shoulder, wrapping your arm around him.

Sigtryggr runs his fingers through her hair. She can tell that the Dane is still stunned.

"I don't mind it. When you bed me."

Sigtryggr wraps one arm around her. "I can be gentler."

"Can you?" You grin at the thought of that. He couldn't.

"I will be. Let me show you."

"Husband." You blush.

His tone is mock-offended. "What?"

"You're teasing!"

"What are you, a little girl?"

"You are a brute."

"What's wrong, little girl? Are you afraid of big, bad Sigtryggr?" You slap his chest, laughing at his words.

Sigtryggr laughs too. "See? I like it when you fight back."

She moves to straddle him and push him down with her right hand.

Sigtryggr groans, closing his eyes. "You fight like a Dane, too." He was a bit bruised still from his recent battle.

"I will make you pray like a Christian."

He wraps his arms around her hips and his tone gets serious anew. "You won't."

"I won't?" You take his arms and then his wrists.

"I will never pray." He stares, his wrists getting pinned above his head by her hands.

"If I were a Dane woman, I could have stabbed you in your sleep. After the bedding."

"And if you were a Dane woman, I would never sleep with you."

You smile. "You like your women with their crosses."

"I like them with their crosses off." He says and uses his knee to kick her off of him. He sits on her waist. His knees are now on either side of her. His left hand grips her throat, letting his thumb caresses her jaw.

He pulls her cross off, tearing the chain and tossing it aside. Sigtryggr puts the cross on the nightstand.

"Sigtryggr." You gasp. He wasn't like this. Although you didn't mind his behavior all that much.

Sigtryggr laughs at the sound. He is doing this all in the name of getting her to continue loving him in spite of their differences.

"Don't laugh." You frown, putting your hand over his hand and lighting running your fingers.

"I like hearing you." He says, and it's not a lie.

"I don't want the entire city of Eoferwic to hear us, Sigtryggr."

The Dane laughs in her ear. "Let them hear us. I can hear them anyway. We'll give them something to listen to." He takes your legs from under you and him and he lifts them. He throws them over his shoulders. He lifts up your nightgown, folding it over your stomach.

Sigtryggr pauses, looking at her. "Better?"

"Yes." You nod.

"I told you I could be better." He pulls at his trousers, taking his cock from them. He doesn't even bothering taking his trousers off because that would mean getting off of her for even a moment.

Sigtryggrs palms his cock, stroking it. Not that he needed to do so. He was already brick hardened.
"Did you ever do this with Sihtric?" He asks suddenly.

"No." You shake your head. Your hands grip the furs beneath you. He knows that's a lie but it's what he wanted to hear.

In truth, you'd had sex with Sihtric Kjartansson many times. At his home in Rumcofa while his wife and kids were away. In the fields, sunny and nude, while you were supposed to be escorting Lady Aelswith. The lake miles from Eoferwic, even. You loved them. God, you and Danes.

"I love you." He says. His blue look into yours.

"I love you, too." You say in return.

"Do you?" He asks. He gave nothing away. He loved you, but he understood you had wavered in fidelity.

"I do, Sigtryggr."

The air is tense, the furs warm and scratchy against your back. The outside sermons are barely audible due to the sound of your own heartbeat.

Without saying anything more, he guides himself and thrusts forward his hips.

"Oh, God." You cry.

"I'll make sure I always do this from now on." He doesn't let you adjust, he keeps thrusting forward into you.

Your legs begin to startle from his shoulders. He holds them there, his hands tight on your ankles. Sigtryggr bares his teeth. Your eyes close shut.

He cums in a few minutes. He pulls his cock from your pussy and cums on your stomach, below the nightgown he had lifted. Afterwards, he teases you. Rubbing his cum covered length against your nether lips. He sticks in its tip, pulling it out, then putting it in again and again a few times.

You whimper. You were going to cum!

"You should have asked Sihtric about his wife. She whores." Sigtryggr says nastily.

"I need you, King of Eoferwic." You whisper. You would not be quiet and would let him figure this anger.

He drops your legs from his shoulders, pulling you and pushing you to the bottom of the bed, arse arched. He stands on his knees. Sigtryggr takes your wrists and holds them with one hand behind you.

He slides his cock using the other of his hands. He goes slow, the mushing sounds echoing with his short thrusts.

You make humming sounds. This felt good. Though you bit your lip, not wanting the people of Eoferwic to hear.

"You are such a pretty woman." He grunts. You were sure his hand was bruising your wrists, but you didn't care. "Just let yourself go."

Your gasps become heavier as does your breathing. You mutter out moans. Too quiet, he goes quicker, faster.

He slaps your ass. You yelp. "Louder."

"Sigtryggr!"

"That's it, woman."

"Sigtryggr, Sigtryggr, Sigtryggr." You moan.

"You speak of your God an awful lot. You talk like a Christian, don't act as though you are."

"There is more than one way I can be on my knees, husband." You undertone.

"God." He grunts.

Your murmurs and moans grow weak as your husband humps you until your legs start to shake. Your legs almost give out underneath you.

At the pace he's going, his cock falls out with a quiet popping noise. He smacks his lips and lets go of your wrists. He thrusts hard back inside of you before dragging his cock completely out. You tug his hair.

"Oh, please," She cries. "Sigtryggr."

He doesn't give much time to respond, instead he lines himself up and thrusts into her. He fucks you deeper.

You finally get to cum. You bite your hand and grip the bed with your other.

His rough calloused hands hold to your hips, easing you. He cums and slowly he slips out. Some of his seed plants itself on your folds.

You pant, holding the furs in both hands and you lower yourself onto the bed.

He wipes himself off. He is panting and grunting like a bear would. He takes your left leg, flipping you over to face him. Your backside hits the furs with a plop.

"I can't, I can't." You whisper gasp.

"You can." He soothes. He wipes the sweat from your forehead and your stray hairs stick. He teases once more. Sliding in and out, rubbing against her.

He waits for her to cum because of him. And thereafter, he finishes, spilling his pleasant seed all over her neck and her breasts.

Sigtryggr rubs your stomach with his fingers, cooing. "It's alright. Hey. Did I hurt you?"

Your eyes to fall shut a few times as you struggle to not finish again right then and there.

"I will be alright, husband." You murmur, taking a couple strands of his hair between your fingertips.

"You're breathing hard." His eyebrows furrow. His gaze is kept.

"That is because of the exhaustion."

"You're sure?"

"It was good. I am happy." You twirl his hair.

Sigtryggr chuckles. His words are genuine. "I feel proud knowing I did that to you."

"Oh, quiet."

"You weren't so quiet after all. I can't hear the sermons, I think you scared them!"

You roll your eyes. "I will get you back for this. I swear on it." Your husband was a Dane. A brute, vicious and jealous when he chose to be, yet you loved him more than anyone else.

"On it?" He jokes.

You ignore, crawling to the head of the bed, resolving your nightgown. You pat the spot next to you.

"Tired enough?"

Sigtryggr lies down beside her. Lying on his stomach, he flings his hair on top of the pillow, he crosses his arms above his head beneath the pillow, and croaks the phrase, "You'll be the death of me, woman. Pretty woman."