An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Vikings (TV)
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Aethelred/Hvitserk (Vikings)
Characters: Aethelred (Vikings), Hvitserk (Vikings), Ubbe (Vikings)
Additional Tags: Bloody Kisses, Fist Fights, Sexual Tension, Religious Conflict, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Making Out, Brotherly Love, Boys Kissing, and theyre both boys >;), Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Forehead Kisses, Desire, Religious Guilt, I'm Bad At Tagging
Series: Part 1 of Hvithelred
Summary:
Hvitserk came crawling back to Ubbe and Bjorn, all of them seeking shelter in the Royal Villa, hiding from Ivar. Hvitserk and Æthelred, the prince of Wessex, try to resolve their feelings, but Hvitserk picks an unusual way to do it. In the end it works out somehow.
-
"Well you do look better, christian" Hvitserk mused, eyes skimming across the other's face. "Blood looks good on you."
Warnings: drug use (mushrooms, duh), consensual non-con, canon divergent
A/N: Entry for Day 6, Mushroom of @vikingsevents autumnal equinox prompts. This was also a fic I've started a long time ago and was initially a bday gif for @issadoragreen. There was supposed to be smut, but somehow it turned cute 😭
Word count: ~ 1,9k
Excerpt:
"Did you lose your voice?" He mocked, a smirk appearing on those lips, causing the prince to frown in confusion. What was this feeling spreading out in his chest? He wasn't afraid, even though he should be.
"No," Æthelred replied eventually, calmer than he thought was possible and his reaction threw Hvitserk enough for a visible change in his expression. "I was curious where you were headed, but clearly you want to be alone." The pagans eyes flitted over Æthelred's face, halting only a mere moment longer at his lips.
With a sniff- a manner he had obviously copied from his brother Ubbe- he leaned back, letting up from Æthelred's throat to put his knife away again. "I did not say that." Hvitserk admitted and Æthelred remembered that he was just a prince like him. "This place is strange." The pagan said and looked around. Wessex's second in line couldn't help but hear the underlying I feel alone, he so clearly saw in Hvitserk's eyes. It was a familiar feeling.
Stories I Will Probably Write One Day 3/? ~> hvithelred Arranged Marriage AU
Ecbert and Ragnar decide the best way to secure a military alliance is through marriage. And while a marriage between two men is unheard of, no one can deny the king.
Piece based on the prompt ‘a stolen kiss + hvitserk/aethelred’ sent in by the lovely @issadoragreen <3
Summary : Having raided Spain, Hvitserk chooses to stay with Rollo after he returns to Frankia. During which time, Rollo hosts several members of England’s most powerful families in hopes of striking up alliances between them. Aethelwulf’s son, Aethelred, happens to be the envoy for Wessex.
A canon div. au that will eventually be expanded into a fic, probably.
Pairing(s) : Hvitserk x Aethelred, Rollo x Gisla ( mentioned )
Warnings : mention of alcohol ?? and there’s one kiss. that’s it.
Word count : 1,455
Addition Notes : Having watched back, Rollo has such a good relationship with Hvitserk when they’re raiding Spain and I’m just sad that nothing really came of it aside from Rollo giving him those troops that were really for Ivar anyway. Still, that’s what aus are for, I guess. But I really do want to expand this idea at a later date tbh.
Soft sunlight peeks in through the small window, carved high into the stone wall of Hvitserk's bed chamber. He turns over, refusing to let go of his dream as a heavy sigh escapes thin, pursed lips.
Rollo had kept him up until the early hours, regaling the young viking with stories of his father and England; vast amounts of wine flowing without heed nor hinderance. Much is the way of their people but having finally stumbled to bed with the aid of a servant, heavy eyes and rosy cheeks immediately led to an almost unconsciously deep sleep.
It could have lasted for minutes or days - he doesn't know - but when Hvitserk finally does manage to persuade his eyes to open, everything feels too bright. The room isn't spinning but the taste of those bitter red grapes still clings tight to the back of his throat. It's wholly unpleasant.
And yet.
There's hope for the day when Hvitserk hears footsteps outside his door. Faint as they are, he knows to whom they belong.
The Saxon prince, Aethelred.
Another softly pained sigh finds its way out as he sits up and rubs his eyes with one hand, index finger pressing slightly across the line of his lashes, catching the hard dust settled there. He flicks it away and somehow finds the energy and orientation to stand. Arms stretch gingerly above his head, muscles faintly screaming from the exertion of the past weeks.
For here, in Frankia, his uncle Rollo has been teaching him many things. Frankish manners are one. How to speak Aethelred's language is another. Both are tiring enough without having to mention the fact that he has daily lessons with Rollo's men in the central training courtyard. Sword skills and archery used to be a pleasure. Now they're simply a chore.
Especially when all he longs to do is sit by the river and listen to Aethelred talk about a letter he's writing to his family in Wessex. Or watch him form elegant characters onto the parchment with all the intrigue of a small child. Of course, that's another part of his new life here; learning how to write in something other than runes. It's painstakingly slow and his hand hurts most of the time but proud was the day when he perfected his own name.
A clean tunic and trousers wait for him on the small chair in the corner and Hvitserk pads across to quietly dress. This is as private as things will be, he knows, and for that reason, he takes a moment longer to fix his appearance before pulling on his soft boots and leaving. The arm ring from his father hangs heavy at his wrist. It shines gold in the light that fills the hallway leading to the staircase.
"Prince Aethelred!" Hvitserk sees him halfway down the second set of stone steps and leans over the banister to call out. Clear, sea blue eyes meet his own as the prince glances up, dark robes tight to his body as usual.
They both smile.
"Hvitserk." Aethelred says in return as he continues on his way, not waiting but expecting the Viking to simply catch up. There's something so refined about him that puts Hvitserk to shame sometimes but there's also a thoroughly fun game hidden there too. The challenge of seeing how far to push before pink cheeks flush.
Hop-skipping down, ignoring the fact that his body tells him not to, the young Ragnarsson is soon in step with the prince.
With his prince.
"You're awake early." Aethelred observes, calmly, hands folded around a closed book at his front. The high collar of his tunic hides a multitude of sins from two days before that nobody, aside from the Saxon himself, seems to care about. Nobody but the one who put them there, that is.
Perhaps it's uncommon to show any kind of attraction or affection in England. Hvitserk doesn't know. What he does know is that whatever little marks were left are probably fading by now.
"I want to get the worm." He shrugs and smiles, baring teeth. Aethelred shakes his head but he's smiling too. "What?"
"Nothing. It's nothing, Hvitserk."
Saying something is nothing hasn't ever made sense to him but it gives rise to the fact that there is a secret hidden; a piece of treasure buried within the words. A very little something to be found in the nothing it claims to be.
And Hvitserk is still thinking about that when they come to the bottom of the stairs and turn down the lengthy corridor, towards the hall for breakfast.
"Boys!" Rollo's voice is just as expected; booming and cheerful as he welcomes them with arms open, gesturing to seats by him at the head of the table. "Hvitserk. This is a surprise. Did you piss the bed last night?"
Both take their seats as Rollo fingers up another cold leg of chicken.
"He wants the worm this morning, Count. At least that's what he told me." Distant glee shines in Aethelred's heavy, lidded eyes as he carefully picks out his meal, transferring several different things from the platters to his own silver plate.
"Is that so? Hm. Shouldn't you be out in the gardens for that?" Rollo teases and one greasy hand slaps to Hvitserk's shoulder in the way only an uncle's can. It's almost the affection that should be expected of a father and that's what makes the younger Viking blush.
If only he were Rollo's son.
"Perhaps I should be. At least that way I wouldn't have to make a fool of myself trying to learn how to write." He says back, a little defeated, in the tongue both still hold onto from their homeland. Not a glance to Aethelred as they speak to one another.
"I never liked learning, either. But when I found I could express my thoughts to Gisla - those I couldn't say - I found it to be useful. I think you will, too. In time." The implication comes to fruition as Rollo's chin juts, eyes following in the direction of the Saxon, across the table.
Hvitserk pretends not to see.
"So. You have until the sun is at its highest before your lessons begin today. What will you do? Aethelred?" Thankful for the attention turning away from him, Hvitserk begins to eat, filling his cheeks as usual with anything and everything.
Aethelred is much better; swallowing his food before addressing his host.
"Practice a little with the sword, I think." Aethelred is nonchalant about the fact but Hvitserk can't help the way his mouth stops chewing. Surprisingly enough, he never imagined any more of the prince than scholarly pursuits. But thinking of him with a blade in hand, shield up to protect his body, giving as good as he gets; there's something stirring in that.
"Hvitserk?" As with his sleep, it could have been minutes or hours between the Saxon's answer and his uncle's summons. He doesn't know but when he's nudged and Aethelred is clearly staring at him too, the food in Hvitserk's throat is suddenly very hard to swallow.
"Uh. Yes. Training." He manages, around the bulk and forcibly pushes his tongue to catch the remains, pressing the tip to the inside of his cheek. "We should do it together."
They've done far more intimate things together and kissing is definitely something Hvitserk enjoys but even the thought of fighting a worthy adversary excites him just that little bit further. Call it lust or battle joy but he knows it's a feeling inherited from Rollo. Or he can assume as much, given the way the stories of the berserker were told.
"Then it's agreed. Once we've eaten and-" Aethelred cuts himself off - an expression of confusion writing itself across his face as he does - as Hvitserk's chair scrapes out and the Viking makes his way around the table. Their eyes lock. "Hvits-"
His name dies easily upon the sigh into his own mouth.
The world consists only of their heartbeats in shared moments like this. Heartbeats and the warmth of barely touching cheeks; embarrassment holding onto just the right side of shame as it colours especially the pale skin of the prince. It's unexpected and, therefore, a stolen kiss. But Hvitserk doesn't care. Anyone and everyone could be watching and he would only see and feel the young man before him.
"I'll see you there." He says, slipping back to ease their parting with the tender touch of foreheads before the prince can protest. Aethelred's only response is a soft sound, made in the back of his throat and Hvitserk smiles, unabashedly.
Rollo watches on, knowing that something more than battle lust is blooming between these two boys.
Little drabble for my dearest @ofmanderley , from a little chat we had last night where Hvitserk offers to be less annoying in exchange for attention, but what else is new?
Set in the Frankia au, where Aethelred and Hvitserk meet while Rollo is count, after his little adventure in the Mediterranean.
“Hvitserk-“ Aethelred huffed, clear eyes wide and eyebrows to his hairline as he rounded the oaken desk with long strides, Hvitserk’s teasing smile in front of him.
There were days when these little antics amused him; the Viking had invited him in from the moment he stepped into his uncle’s court, all tilted smiles and dangerous eyes, strolling around as if he owned everything in the place. He had all but forced a place for himself in Aethelred’s rooms and heart, and the prince had found that he didn’t mind it when his unlikely companion would barge into his rooms and force him listen to whatever silly thing had caught his attention for the day, playing with his books and grabbing any trinket he might get his anxious hands on.
Aethelred didn’t mind. Mostly. Usually.
Except for today.
Today, Hvitserk had chosen to be annoying.
Aethelred rounded on him, stared at the Viking with all the might he could summon as crown prince of Wessex, praying to God almighty that he would maybe, maybe not act like a child for once and do as he was told. All the while, his friend smiled like a cat with cream, and every war lesson he had had in his life told Aethelred this was some sort of trap.
The prince hummed, leaning forward. His arms on either side of Hvitserk, hands on his hips, thumbs finding skin under the clean shirt Hvitserk wore to draw gentle circles. Eye to eye. One of them had to lead by example and be civil, after all.
“Give that back, now. I will even let you stay.”
“Give what back, huh?”
“The letter, Hvitserk. Give it back before you ruin it with your pagan hands.”
“You like my pagan hands,”
“Yes, I do. But not on my letters,” Especially when they were barely dry oh Lord.
“And where,” Hvitserk started, voice a purr, head tilted, “Do you like my hands on, prince Aethelred?”
Green eyes looked down, to Aethelred’s pink tongue as he wet his lips. The prince knew, then, that he could turn this into a victory for himself.
Alternate Universe in which, instead of renouncing his birthright and being killed by his mother Queen Judith, Aethelred becomes King of Wessex and dedicates his life to his country, his religion, and his wars against the pagans invading his lands. During one fateful battle, the King is taken prisoner and made to heel by two Lothbrok brothers, Ivar and Hvitserk Ragnarsson, princes of Kattegat and scourges of England.
Birthday present for lovely @ofmanderley with whom I have discussed shared this idea, and who has become a simp of Ivared/Hvithelred because of my bad influence. Honey, thank you for your friendship and time and work for this pairing, I hope you enjoy <3!!!
