Bone-Eater, Hungry For Fire
Romance short. A warrior a-viking stumbles upon a burned man in monk’s robes.
Rated M, M/M. A warrior a-viking in England is interrupted in a raid by a mad monk who is even madder than he seems. Some fire-crossed lovers for you!
Early Medieval England. 4.5k. Some fucked-up power dynamics, mentions of period-typical slavery and human trafficking, branding, burns, and fire play.
The noise that Orm makes is a loud, sharp hiss, and Agmundr turns to look. Orm is a good-sized man, but big enough that Agmundr can barely see the monk behind him, who’s torn Orm’s own dagger from his hip and is holding the point up against the very underside of his throat.
There’s smoke on the air and sweat on Agmundr’s skin, their raid very nearly through with — most of the monks are either dead on the ground or huddled together, roped and tied, to be handed off to the Lorssons and sold as thralls. This one is on the younger side, must be thirty or so, and he’s not unusually skinny, but he has a much smaller frame than Orm’s.
“The fuck do you think you’re going to do here, monk?” Agmundr asks in the best approximation he can of their language, and the monk shifts Orm by the hair with him, keeping Orm’s body between him and Agmundr’s and the rest of them, ensuring that…
