VBS - Dawn of the Gods: Prequel ~BL~

(Fjolnir)

The moss-covered trunks are damp beneath my palms, and the mist that barely lifted all day now weighs heavily in my lungs as I work to control my breathing. I like to think my stealth skills improve with each visit to the Aesir forest; I’ve learned how to cover my tracks and even lay down a false trail. And yet, he always knows I’m here as if the forest floor is an extension of his being.

Modi: feral, wild, and untamed. Set free from the constraints of society. I know he’s out there. Has he already found me? Is he waiting for me to make a mistake before he pounces?

A shudder rolls up my spine, and the hairs on the back of my neck raise. Bracing against the rough bark of a nearby spruce tree, I chance a look around. There’s hardly any light, and my eyes aren’t adept in these conditions.

The brambles in this part of the forest grow thick and can easily disguise any predators that might lurk nearby. The clearing for the meadow isn’t far. Can I make it before he finds me?

With the echo of my heartbeat in my throat, I push off towards the quiet babbling of the nearby stream. At this point, it’s nothing more than a perpetual trickle - it doesn’t widen until it breaches the far side of the clearing - but it will work to cover my footprints.

Treading with light footsteps, memories of each specific demand made of me since I was rudely awoken this morning surface in my mind. From Aunt Freyja drawing the curtains to allow in the early morning light, irrespective of my wishes for a darker room, to the smoked salmon and poached quail eggs served for breakfast. Saliva builds in my mouth, and I spit the thick wad to the side. I hate smoked salmon.

Yet it doesn’t matter - my wishes are irrelevant. I live the life befitting my position as the Heir of the House of Vanir, and if that means I choke down smoked salmon for breakfast, then so be it. Everything about my life is crafted to secure a favourable outcome for my family. And, as the last Vanirian born, all eyes are on me.

Our position is no longer secure, not since my father died. He was defending my mother in an attack and succeeded him as the Head of our House upon his death. I am an only child, and Mother is too lost in her grief to consider engaging in another union. So it’s just me and her - and Aunt Freyja.

Scrubbing my hands over my face loosens the invisible rope of the past that binds my future. Lamenting my lot is fruitless, especially when I’m here, in his domain. Each second I lose focus is a moment of weakness I can’t afford.

The cold water of the stream soaks through the leather of my boots. Sent as a gift by a family from Álfheim hoping for a union, they showcase the undeniable talent of the Elven artisans. They’d been set out especially for me to wear to meet the family, yet they’ve failed to withstand even an hour in this primal habitat.

Still, I can’t hold this against the cordwainer who crafted them. There’s no way they could have foreseen the hardship I would subject the boots to. No one knows I come here each time I’m in Asgard. No one can ever know, except him.

The sudden flapping of panicked wings spikes my heart rate. A grouse launches from the safety of the tall grasses that line the bankside, and I come to a dead stop. It’s too dark now for me to see much of anything at all. A cold shiver works up my spine as I realise that he might have already found me. A wicked smile tugs at my lips, but I won’t go down without a fight.

Stepping from the stream and into the tree line, I weave silently through the saplings, the echo of my heartbeat pounding in my throat. Suddenly, my arm is twisted painfully behind my back, and my chest slammed against the rough bark of a nearby tree.

“You’re not supposed to be here.” Modi’s breath is hot as it curls over the shell of my ear.

Automatically, I widen my stance and use my legs to push against his larger frame as it moulds to my back. But Modi simply works the small gap to his advantage, sliding his other arm up my sternum until his fingers latch onto my throat. With his thumb securely over the pressure point in my neck, he plants his feet to keep my legs spread.

The rage that blinded me earlier burns hot in my veins, but my tongue lies thick and heavy in my mouth as he tightens his grip in a bid to subdue me. Everyone is always trying to control me. My free hand wraps tightly over the top of his as I fight to speak out.

His guttural rumble oozes predatory excitement as he pulls my head back to rest against the crook of his neck. The moon fails to provide much light, yet even in these dark conditions, I can easily see the unique silver tone of his eyes.

Modi angles his head for a better look at his prey, and the movement causes the carved bone beads at the bottom of a messy braid to fall forward. They clank together, and I raise my fingertips to touch them. He halts my progress by sinking his teeth into my jaw. He’s not aiming to tear the flesh, more like pinning me in place and reminding me who is in charge. A moan rises unbidden at the carnal act, and his grip on my throat tightens in response.

I should be scared. His reputation alone keeps most people off this land. My fingers resume their journey, tangling in the coarse hairs of his short, dark beard. He surrenders my jaw in favour of my ear, and his breaths ghost my skin in short pants. Mine match the pace he sets with ease.

This is why I came - why I always come. Modi lights a fire so deep within my core that he burns away all my thoughts. Set free from my mental confines, I exist purely for the sensations he draws from my body. For the strength and security of his hold, for the breaths he allows me to draw, and for my heart that beats only for him.

“You know I can’t stay away for long,” my words rasp as I strain to be heard.

“Did you attend your meeting?” He sucks on my ear lobe before flicking his tongue against it - a promise. “Or did you skip out early?” His teeth latch on as he tugs harshly - a warning.

Unable to lie to him, my eyes divert to the false safety of the toughened bark before me.

“Hmmmm.” He pulls his head away, and the damp night air chills the heated skin of my neck. The hand that holds my forearm in a vice-like grip behind my back loosens. “Brace your hands against the trunk.”

His command races over my skin just as the message from my brain races underneath it. Flexing my wrist a few times, I flatten both palms on the tree. Modi reaches around my front and confidently unfastens my belt before biting into the nape of my neck.

I hiss out loud at the pain and rest my forehead against the trunk. His blunt nails drag over my skin as he works the leather of my pants down around my knees. He only releases me from his savage hold to shove the cotton of my tunic and cloak up my back.

Exposed before him, my skin pebbles as conflicting emotions battle for supremacy - vulnerability versus excitement. The sound of his open palm slapping against my ass registers a split second before the sting. I scrunch my eyes and brace for the subsequent impact, remembering too late that doing so only makes it more harsh.

I bite back a moan as sweat beads along my hairline. Modi’s palm rubs my tingling skin, but his callouses only heighten my sensitivity. “You are reckless.”

Another two strikes fall in rapid succession, and my cock thickens in response.

“I need you.” The words are nothing more than a breathy whisper - the final reflection of my quiet mind. This is why I come, why I can’t stay away.

Modi’s body steps in close against mine, his feet firm along my instep, his knees brace the backs of my legs, and his pelvis cradles mine. Strong fingers trail the indent of my spine before smoothing over my ribs and coming to rest over my heart.

“I know.” The deep timbre of his voice cocoons me, and I turn myself over to his care.

Two of Modi’s fingers push into my mouth, and no further words are spoken. They taste of soil and devotion. When he pulls them out, damp night air rushes in to fill the void, but it’s only a brief moment of emptiness before they slick over my hole. The intrusion is targeted and merciless. The sting of it whites out my vision as my eyes roll back in their sockets, and he sets about quickly claiming his conquest.

Familiar grunts fall from his lips as he staves off anticipation. Knowing that I have him this on edge, without so much as laying a finger on him, is better than any aphrodisiac. I grind against his hand, desperate for more, but he denies my silent request. Whilst his fingers scissor me open, the wet schlucking sound grows louder, and my blood heats.

By the time his crown nudges my hole, every nerve in my body is on fire and begging for the release only he can grant. The burn from the stretch causes my breathing to deepen, but when he pulls back before roughly surging forward, he forces all the air from my lungs. The strength of his thrusts push me bodily against the tree, and the sounds of our brutal passion rend the air.