Hvitserk wasn't entirely pleased when he heard his lover had got word of what kind of man he was in battle — not that it was exactly rare. There were quite a few men like him in battle — high off the sensation of thick, hot blood on their skin — the carnal drive to kill, chase, hunt. Hvitserk could recall moments where after a battle, blood still stuck to his skin, having come back enough that he could feel all the pain settle back into his body — he'd been aroused. That he'd tented his trousers like some boy.

So Hvitserk was hesitant to share that side of himself with his lover. He wasn't a man who hid much, but he didn't want to hurt them — and to him, that side was worth hiding. But they had not only heard about and eventually confirmed by Hvitserk, but they had expressed interest in it.

Now he was an open man — willing to try things once, especially in bed because nothing was more fulfilling than hearing the sounds of pleasure his lover expressed. He had warned them — questioning over and over if this was something they wanted to see, wanted to experience because it wasn't like the dirty words and soft touches he normally displayed. But this is what they wanted, so this is what they'd get.

The halls of their home were quiet — audibly they were, but the tension was loud enough. It was loud enough to keep one on their toes, waiting and listening for any sounds.

Hvitserk wasn't entirely sure how to prepare himself to really get into the role his lover wanted, but he was going to try his best. He had brawled for far too long — where painful punches turned into pleasure, the sting that came with a kick felt like electricity across his body, how his blood started to taste good.

That's when the transition inside Hvitserk started to happen — when his lover's sweet companion started to leave and a much more deviant, hungry side started to peek his nasty head through.

He knew exactly where his bedroom was, and with his lover's confession still in mind — he made a beeline for it. The door swung open with enough force that it bounced off the wall when he opened it — he slammed the door behind him.

Hvitserk lunged forward, grabbing his lover's ankles and yanking them to the edge of the bed. He wrapped his arm around their neck, forcing them into a chokehold as his hand cupped his own shoulder to secure the position. His other hand yanked their top open, ripping it open with enough force for latches to snap, buttons to pop and fabric to rip.

"Don't fight," Hvitserk snarled into their ear, his free hand reaching for the blade on his thigh. He yanked it out and dug it into the fabric of their bottoms, slicing them open — their undergarments following suit; forced bare.

"Scream and I will scar your pretty ass," Hvitserk threatened, blade dragging across their belly before he dragged the tip down to their pubic area. "Work my trousers off," he ordered once more, digging the tip in a bit deeper — not enough to puncture, but enough to create a dip in the skin.

"I know you want it — stop acting like you do not," he spoke into their ear once more, pushing his hips against their rear.