Author’s Note: Hi! This is my very first time writing for The Last Kingdom, so please cut me some slack if the characters are a bit ooc. There simply is not enough poly stuff for these two in my humble opinion. I need to be between them both so bad. Okay, please enjoy!
As always, reader is supposed to be gn+vague, so if you catch any mistakes related to that please let me know.
Words: 0.4k — a quick one since I just wanted to get it out :)
Warnings: fluff; pet names (love, pretty boy); kissing; reader is said to have hair with braids but no description of length or color, etc; cheesy as fuck.
Summary: A cute moment spent within Sihtric and Finan's arms.
Check out my other stuff :)
———————————
“What are you thinking about?” Thick with sleep, Finan’s voice is a warm blanket.
Your head tilts to the side as you brush a leaf down his face, smiling softly as his eyes close in bliss.
“Hmm,” you hum as his eyes open and pin you with his stare, “just that you are too pretty to be real.”
His eyes widen, “‘Pretty?!’” he says in mock offense. “I am ‘pretty’ to you? That’s all?! I am a fearsome warrior, I’ll have you know!” His hands fly about as he exaggerates his words.
You can’t help but giggle at his grumbling, feeling your chest warm as he shakes his head side to side in your lap. Your fingers are quick to find the short braids Sihtric wove into the Irishman’s dark hair, the metal beads matching the ones in your and the Dane’s hair.
“Fine, fine! You aren’t pretty.”
As if it were possible, the man grows even more bewildered when you leave your sentence at that. “Excuse me!” His accent thicker than ever.
The laughter bubbles out of you, “What? You didn’t wanna be pretty!”
His mouth opens and closes like a fish as he tries to come up with a response.
You feel the vibrations of Sihtric’s laughter against your back before you hear it. His arms squeezing you just a little tighter. “Keep tormenting him, my love. Misery looks good on him,” his words are said into your shoulder, eyes also peering down at Finan. The smile clear as day in his voice.
“You fucking heathen, you!” Finan sits up in faux rage, but you’re quick to grab his arm and pull him into your chest; smothering his face in light kisses in between your quiet laughter.
“You are the bravest, scariest, toughest, handsomest warrior to have ever walked Wessex. And I am in awe everyday to call you mine.”
The Irishman cups the crown of your head to pull you into a soft kiss. The both of you smiling through it.
You feel Sihtric nuzzle his nose into your neck after a while, “And what about me?”
You and Finan pull away from each other with a laugh.
“You, my friend, are an oaf.”
“Finan!”
He just laughs at your gentle smack against his bicep.
You rest your head back on Sihtric’s shoulder, the hand not holding onto Finan reaching up into his hair. “You are the sweetest, kindest, gentlest, most fearsome,” you lightly pinch Finan as he starts to protest, “warrior, Sihtric. My pretty boy.”
He kisses the spot just below your ear, mumbling his thanks and returning your praise tenfold.
Finan tilts his head back, humming in disapproval. “You got that last bit wrong, love,” it’s Sihtric’s turn to be pulled down, “he’s our pretty boy.” Sihtric moans the second their lips connect.
The embrace between the three of you tightens as you get lost within kisses and caresses for the rest of the night.
Kerch History Museum (Section 2B, Ketterdam Artifact Archives)
Photograph of Kaz "Dirtyhands" Brekker, leader of the Dregs. Other individuals unknown, man on the left is assumed to be Brekker's rival gang leader, Pekka Rollins.
Obtained from an anonymous donor
4.233" x 3.483"
Photographer Unknown
Artifact #24380
YAYYYY it's @ticklishraspberries's BIRTHDAY!!! everybody say thank u raspberry for being born. queen bestie I hope u like ur gift & I will forever cherish that we got to watch this movie together <3 (side note: in my head this takes place after the iconic hotel room scene so they're back at school but my girl Tashi didn't want either of them yet lol) (also this image inspired their initial positioning except it's Art's foot/ Patrick's face but we take what we can get & we say thank you Luca Guadagnino)
The dorm room reeked of unspoken tension. It also, as it so happens, reeked of the joint they’d just smoked through the window. The season was over and drug testing wouldn’t commence until August. This, Patrick had noted, was an opportunity only a fool would pass up.
“Pretty sure we’re the foolish ones if you think about it,” Art retorted. Patrick rolled his eyes and gently shoved his knee into Art’s. Their twin beds had been pushed together at the beginning of their first semester and neither wanted that to change.
“And look who’s already nonverbal,” Art teased his lack of response.
A slight grin tugged at the corners of Patrick’s mouth as he turned his head to Art, eyes half-lidded.
“I’m…taking in the moment.”
Art smirked, rolling his eyes.
“Seeing sounds? Hearing colors?”
“Crazy shit. I’m seeing things nobody else can see.”
“What, like you being good at tennis?”
Patrick rolled his eyes and instead of a verbal response, gave Art’s foot a quick swipe. The sensation was enough to make Art jump like a startled cat. His body twitched, eyes wide with exaggerated shock.
“Wait!” Art protested, somewhere between a laugh and a yelp. There was a moment of tense but playful silence; the calm before the storm. And the storm came in the form of a very stoned Patrick seeking revenge. Before Art could remember how to defend himself, he pounced. He used one hand to hold down Art’s foot while the other hand began a relentless, ticklish assault.
Art didn’t even have the strength to resist laughing. Giggles began to flow from Art. Like a river running, all he could do was babble helplessly. He found his words as Patrick found a particularly sensitive spot between his toes.
“PAHAHTRICK!” Was all he could get out before his other foot inadvertently swung. Patrick dodged it, but barely. He gasped in offended shock as he removed his hands. Unfortunately, this pause was only so that he could adjust himself so he was sitting atop Art’s knees.
“You could’ve taken me out right there,” Patrick tried to look as serious as possible, but his eyes gleamed with mischief.
“I highly doubt a dorm room is the right place to take someone out,” Art sassed as if he weren’t at the mercy of Patrick’s fingers. “I’d take you somewhere nicer.”
Patrick, in a hurry to make sure Art didn’t notice the shade of pink he was turning, attacked. He was relieved that Art’s eyes immediately squeezed shut as he attempted to not laugh at the fingers fluttering over his ribs.
“I’m gonnahaha get you BACK!” he tried to sound intimidating as the damn broke and laughter came spilling out. “TENFOLD!”
“Mmhm, I’m sure you will,” Patrick smirked as his unforgiving fingers worked their magic.
“Yohohou assh—“ he was cut short as Patrick found a spot that made him shriek. A shark grin spread over his face and he squeezed his hips again, eliciting another squeal.
“There?”
“NO! Patrick I swear to God—“ the rushed plea for mercy (disguised as a threat) came out sounding more like a single word than individual ones.
“Oh, to God, you say,” he held up his hands as if to surrender.
“Fuck yohohou,” Art gasped for air.
“Code violation! Audible obscenity,” was the only break Art received before Patrick brought his hands down again to attack his hips. Waves of electric tickles coursed through Art. The laughter that exploded from him was boisterous and uncontrollable. Patrick hoped the way his heart sped up was just a side effect of the weed.
Art gasped and giggled as Patrick moved his fingers to claw at his belly. He kicked his legs and tried to grab at Patrick’s hands, but every movement felt like a slow, exaggerated delay.
After what felt like an eternity, Patrick pulled his hands back but stayed seated there. He watched Art regain his breath with a lazy, satisfied smile.
“You’re a dick,” Art breathed heavily. There was no malice behind it, only stunned appreciation for the mercy.
Patrick snorted, clearly pleased with himself.
“Yet you never once told me to stop.”
Art flushed pink at the observation. “You’re such a dick,” he rephrased, trying and failing to squirm out from beneath him.
Patrick looked like a cat that had just discovered the joy of knocking things over. There was that grin again, white teeth flashing.
“That’s not a denial.”
He turned a shade darker and opened his mouth to protest, but the moment he sucked in a breath, Patrick’s fingers found that spot at his hip bones. He shrieked and twisted, half laughing and half wheezing.
“Ahahasshole—“
Patrick leaned in, lips brushing the top of Art’s ear.
“You gonna admit it?”
Art’s face was practically crimson colored, somewhere between being flustered and horrified and delighted. In a moment of weed-induced weakness, Patrick let the impulsive thoughts win. He took a tiny lick and bite of Art’s ear, which made the other shriek bloody murder.
“Wait wait wait, that actually tickles?” He laughed delightedly and backed up as Art put his hands over his face.
“I’m gonna kill you,” his reply was muffled as his hands still covered his face. “And it’s gonna be really slow, and really painful.”
“Choice words towards someone who’s on top of you.”
“And then I’m gonna kick your ass in the next match.”
“Maybe,” Patrick replied in a sing-song voice, “but that doesn’t change the fact that you like it when I tickle the shit outta you,” he added smugly.
“Bold assum–” His retort was cut short as he broke into another helpless burst of laughter due to fingers clawing their way under his arms. Dirty blonde hair flopping, he twisted his face into his pillow to muffle the sound of laughter. Patrick paused long enough to let the silence stretch. He wouldn’t stand for anything other than the boy’s full, unbridled laugh. Art bravely dared to glance up.
Patrick struck again with ruthless precision, but this time he utilized a new weapon. Art’s shirt had ridden up in the squirming process and he’d quickly decided it was unacceptable to finish the onslaught without a raspberry. He blew one as hard as he could onto his belly button and by his reaction, this seemed by far the worst (or best) tactic. Art howled, loud and raw, unfiltered.
“OKAHAHAY!” Art laugh-screamed. “I-I don’t hate it!”
Patrick eased up and beamed like he’d just won Olympic gold. Art lay panting like he’d just finished a marathon.
“I’ll get you to admit to loving it at some point, but I think if I kept going now I’d kill you.”
“Fuck off,” Art retorted playfully as he shoved Patrick off and onto the bed next to him.
“Mmhm, make me.”
It was Art’s turn to give a Cheshire cat smile. “You know what? I think I know exactly how to do that.”
