3. The Romantic
Chapter three
The Romantic
OLI
I was in the strange yet beautiful world of Vanaheim, home of the Vanir race of gods, lost within its radiant woodland.
Utterly alone.
“Help—!” I started to cry, but before the word left me as little more than a curse at Hel herself, I turned to find a sword point less than a step in front of my face. No hand, no warrior wielded it, but it hovered, aimed at me, as if about to strike and skewer me between the eyes.
“Hold! I believe the young man merely needs assistance, not a thrashing.”
The voice caused the sword to lower and back away from me. It swept upright and then down to point at the grass, as if mimicking a bow.
“That’s its way of apologizing. Do forgive it. It only means to protect its master. And who might its master’s trespasser be?”
I raised my eyes from the blade of my near demise to see a man walking out of the trees behind the sword.
If Heimdall was dazzling brightness, all white, and difficult to look at when the rays of the midday sun further illuminated him, then this figure was the comforting bronze of a sunrise.
Friendlier looking, at least on the surface, like on a summer day, early-morn, before it grew too hot.
He was equally as beautiful as Heimdall, but his long hair was a rich auburn, full and wavy with only a few intermittent braids as if he preferred the wildness of a mane.
His green eyes matched the verdant foliage around us, and his auburn beard, while not long enough to add baubles or braids, was an attractive medium length that well framed his face.
He was dressed like a hunter, in leathers and furs, all in the same colors as the wood.
“Well?” he pressed, coming close enough to seize his floating sword and sheathe it.
“Freyr,” I gasped, standing in awe of him. He had always been one of my favorite gods to hear stories about, gallant and charming and everything a young man should idolize.
“That’s my name!” He laughed and pounded a fist against his chest.
“I know that!” I blurted, feeling like an idiot. “I’m not… I meant… my name is Oli. I know who you are.”
“So it seems.” Freyr planted his hands on his hips, like posing for a statue to be sculpted, and if one was, it would have been worth every shave of the stone. “May I ask why you are plodding through my wood?”
“Then this is Vanaheim?”
“Naturally. What’s unnatural is having a mortal here. This is Vanir land.”
The Vanir, a different tribe than the more war-hungry Aesir like Odin and Thor, embraced nature and the prosperity of the simpler “farm boy” life, like Loki had teased me.
They still were warriors when needed and summoners of great magic, but their passions lie elsewhere than on the battlefield.
More than enough for two otherwise similar peoples to fear, hate, and war with one another.
Eventually, the Aesir and Vanir tribes had called a truce, and to solidify a new age of peace between them, Freyr, his sister Freya, and their father Njord were given to the Aesir as sort of ambassadors.
Maybe “prisoners of war” was a better term, but they had freedoms to live as they pleased, if it pleased the other gods.
“You live among the Aesir now,” I said. “Or… no. Yes! But you watch over Alfheim, the land of the elves.”
“Right you are.” Freyr let his hands drop, although one did find the hilt of the floating sword, as just a familiar, casual position or one of warning, I wasn’t certain.
“My father gifted me rulership of Alfheim when I was young. They needed a leader, and I embodied all the things most revered by the elves. Beauty. Benevolence. Fertility.” He winked.
The gods were supposedly broken, in need of something, and I was to give it. Heimdall had sought a certain retribution for creating our class system. I was a spark of hope for him.
In what ways was Freyr broken, who clearly hadn’t expected me the way Heimdall had?
“I do believe I might have some elven lineage from my mother’s side.
” Freyr lifted one side of his hair to show that his ears bore a slight point, like was said in stories of the light elves, that they were lithe and graceful with pointed ears and delicate chins.
The rest of Freyr was quite manly in contrast but still fair.
“Of course, our elders can be quite tight-lipped about who fucked whom whenever asked, so who’s to say. ”
He took another step toward me, and I’d swear his sword-hilt vibrated, eager to be unsheathed again.
“But home is home, and that old Aesir-Vanir war pales compared to more… recent battles. I merely came here for a stroll to clear my head. Now it’s back to Alfheim.” Freyr reached me, and then stepped around me to head down the path.
“Wait! You can’t leave me here!”
“I didn’t bring you here.” He peered over his shoulder.
“Loki did.”
“Ah.” A bit of a smile touched Freyr’s lips. “And why did he do that? To seek out me?”
“Yes. To help you forget your troubles after Ragnarok by… bedding you.”
Freyr’s laughter was so much louder at that, I couldn’t not take offence, though I was more offended when he turned fully, looked me up and down, and said, “You can’t handle me.”
“ Excuse me ?”
He stalked back toward me with a different strut to his stride.
It was a strut to be sure, with a wider-legged stance and an abundance of pride that made my gut blossom with heat.
“What do the mortal stories say of me, hm? God of fertility ? Virility?” He cocked his hip in such a way, one hand still fingering his sword hilt, that my eyes were drawn to exactly where I imagined he wanted me to look.
The fabric of his tunic hung over his groin, and yet, somehow, even through that, and through his trousers, it seemed possible to make out the line of the large cock straining against what covered it.
How could I forget? Freyr was the god of fertility because his stories went out of their way to recount how he was also the most well-endowed.
After sinking between the ivory cheeks of Heimdall, I was curious how being filled by a god might feel. Freyr meant to scare me off with his taunting, or was it to further tempt me and gauge how truly eager I was to feel his stretch?
“I am up for the task.” I held firm, raising my eyes to his. “Try me.”
“And you believe this will… what? Ease my mind of the aftermath of death and rebirth?”
“Loki seems to think so.”
“Then he must think very highly of you.” Freyr scanned his eyes up and down me again.
Did he? Had this even been Loki’s idea, or Heimdall’s after watching me first? Maybe Loki simply trusted the watchman and didn’t believe in me himself.
Why did that thought turn the heat in my gut to an aching twist?
“You are handsome,” Freyr said. “Well formed. Very inviting. But I have sprung tears to the eyes of men and women alike who thought they could take me and eventually cried for mercy. I have a stipulation now for anyone I bed. You will have to agree to it and follow my lead from then on. Will you?”
“May I ask the stipulation first?”
On his sword belt were various pouches, as well as a water skin. Freyr reached into one such pouch and pulled out a… I had no idea what.
It almost looked like a sword handle itself, starting narrow, becoming more bulbous, and tapering again to where it finally ended at a seeming hilt that could have connected to a blade.
Only it wasn’t made of metal, and it had no blade to attach to.
It had a matte texture in the same verdant green as Freyr’s eyes.
“A handy elven device.” He grinned. “Enchanted. Once inserted, it enlarges over time to gauge how much stretch my would-be partners can handle. It grows and grows until it reaches an approximation of my size. It is a gradual growth, so you will have ample time to beg for reprieve. If you make it to the end, you can have the real thing. If you cannot handle it, simply say so, and I will remove it and send you back to Loki.”
The new warmth that spread through me was all anticipation. I’d had objects other than a finger or prick in me before, but never something inanimate that could grow on its own. It was both unnerving and encouraging.
I had no idea how agreeing to this might help Freyr, but I wasn’t about to pass up the opportunity to know the largest of the gods.
“I accept.”
“Then follow me.” Freyr put the strange device back in its pouch and turned to continue the way he’d headed before.
I followed, allowing myself to enjoy the scenery.
We were nearing the waterfall. I could hear its roar growing closer, until we passed out of a thicker section of trees, and suddenly, we were there, right at the waterfall’s base.
It was incredible, so many stories high that I had to crane my neck to see its peak.
It spilled its water into a beautiful crystalline pool with the softest of grasses along its banks.
I had no qualms about being fucked in such an oasis, but Freyr merely stood at the water’s edge and gestured to a spot in the grass where the pool lapped gentle waves up to wet it from the force of the waterfall.
“Remove your trousers. I’d recommend leaving everything below the waist in the dry grass where you stand, unless you want it soaked.
Then lie here with your legs in the pool. ”
An odd request but hardly a dissuading one.
I removed my shoes, trousers, and undergarments where I was and left it all there before moving to join Freyr and lying beneath him.
The water was a perfect temperature of coolness without being cold as I submerged my legs to just above my knees.
The lapping of the water up the bank meant it flowed up to kiss my naked behind and already half-hard cock.
“Relax.” Freyr stood serene above me. “This can be quite enjoyable and won’t harm you.”
“What—”