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ritual-unions · 1 year

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Touch Me

Moodboard by @therealvikingstrash (that I am still absolutely still in love with)

Modern!Hvitserk x OFC

Summary: Ubbe solicits Hvitserk into having sex with his girl, Dusty, so that he can watch, things don’t go as planned when Hvitserk’s new girlfriend, Honey, walks in on the three of them mid-coitous.

A part of my "Broken Clocks" series, in which the sons of Ragnar own a strip club, The Valkyrie, located in England, much to the annoyance of the Christian council, Ecbert, and his son, Aethelwulf.

My submission for #smuttyvikings by @vikingsevents the Day 2 prompt: "Touch | Featherlight, Rough, Tender"

Warnings: NSFW, cuckolding, oral sex

Read on Ao3 if you prefer

Honey B is in her power most days. She has off days. Days where she wakes up and does not feel like wearing a teeny tiny string bikini and would rather put on sweatpants and curl back under the bed covers. Days when her favorite platform heels feel too small for her feet or the pimple on her chin feels too big to go out in public.

They think because she is small that she cannot handle the realities of the world. Ubbe had warned her as such when she applied for the job but she knew what she was signing up for, so she says her thanks and accepts the job.

She thinks she has seen it all in the months that follow. It is not until she stumbles upon Hvitserk with his tongue deep in Dusty’s pussy that she realizes she has not.

*****

There is enough money scattered across the stage that it piles to the top of Dusty’s feet. Even in her four inch heels the notes brush the thin straps of her platform heels. She seems to float through the pile as if she is walking through water.

The chrome pole is beckoning her. Dusty’s fingers curl around it, latching on and then climbing to the top. With only her thighs to hold her in place she stretches back, floating in the air.

Hvitserk can’t take his eyes off of her.

For the past two hours Dusty has been dancing for a private group of men but that does not stop her from getting back in her groove. This time she will dance for herself and no one else.

Hvitserk watches as she floats around the blanket of devotion that has been laid on the stage. He cannot imagine the total number of notes that are here but he guesses it will be enough for her to pay all her monthly bills plus some.

It is not the money he is in awe of but the strength that keeps her on the pole. Setting aside the trash bag that is half full of cash he has been collecting for her he sits back on the plush cushions of the bench opposite of the stage, takes out the radio that is jammed in his ear, letting it hang along the collar of his shirt and relaxes to take in the show. The voices of bouncers, bartenders and Ivar’s direct commands converge in a static chatter that he ignores, instead focusing on Dusty.

The thick red curtains that surround the semi-private room are closed. Ivar will not see Hvitserk sitting down on the job, that is, unless he is in the office watching the cameras. Not that it matters. It’s a Wednesday night and The Valkyrie is only at seventy percent occupancy, low compared to the weekends, and Hvitserk sees nothing wrong with taking a break.

Digging into his pocket Hvitserk pulls out a fresh box of cigarillos, peels off that plastic wrapper that seals it shut and sets to rolling a spliff. The small cocktail table before him is sticky in one corner and he plucks a discarded note near his foot to use as a makeshift tray where he can work, undisturbed by the cocktail juice. The cigarillo paper cracks open between his fingers and he empties out the tobacco carefully onto the note’s surface. The weed he pulls from the inside pocket of his jacket is schwag, not worthy of a stand-alone smoke, so he mixes it with the tobacco to create something better. A mind and body high that he enjoys so much.

The music in the main hall shakes the ground but as it filters through the curtains it is only a muffled beat that hits Hvitserk. His ears ring in the half-silence as he handles the cigarillo with care. It wants to crumble under his grip as he tries to balance the paper in one hand and the note filled with tobacco and weed in the other but he has done this enough to know the exact pressure to apply.

Out of the corner of his eye he can see Dusty still floating in the air. Her arms are spread out wide as her head hangs back, spinning slowly. She is like the ceramic figurines Aslaug used to put out during the holidays. The electronic figure skater was always his favorite to watch as she slid effortlessly across the ice. Unlike the figurine whose wide eyes were round with wonder Dusty’s are closed off to the world.

Floating.

Dreaming.

Elsewhere.

“Who were those guys?” Hvitserk asks as his fingers curl around the cigarillo paper, sealing it shut.

Dusty hums in reply, coming down from the cloud she has escaped on. A place where no one can touch her. None of her problems exist. It is only her and the little world she has created for herself.

She licks her lips contemplating her answer before reaching upwards towards the pole.

Sliding to the ground she says, “politician's son.” Her heels do not make a sound as they land on the stage. “And his china plates.” Dusty mocks in a feigning Cockney accent. Her lip snarls at her own joke. Her own accent is a muddle mix of the Russian immigrant parents who raised her and the dialect of the English countryside she was born in.

She slides to her knees gracefully, dancing to the muffled song pounding outside of the room, bending back until her head rests on the stage, arm stretched above her head.

From this contorted position she peers at him, watching him for a moment before she speaks whatever it is on her mind. Dusty, while hot headed and quick to speak her mind, first wears her thoughts on her face before she opens her mouth. Hvitserk has witnessed this process unfold between her and Ivar enough to know it well. He waits, too concentrated on getting the spliff perfect to be bothered by her drawn out stare.

“Ubbe says he has a request for you,” she finally announces.

Hvitserk licks the paper, wetting the edges. He can’t help but smirk. Dusty has never been one to not beat around the bush. He appreciates her bluntness most days. She is unlike Ivar or Bjorn who attempt to show off their intelligence with riddles and snide remarks.

“He told me,” Hvitserk mumbles as he licks the cigarillo paper.

“And?” Dusty impatiently demands.

Hvitserk pulls the flame of his lighter to seal the edges of the paper, not looking up at her until he is certain his spliff is complete. Placing one end between his lips he replies.

“I’ll do it.”

Clicking the lighter twice he brings the flame to the end of his spliff. Unintentionally he smirks around the cigarillo when Dusty beams with glee. She is happy that he said yes. It is no ordinary request, he admits, but she should know by now that he rarely says no to Ubbe.

He inhales a few short puffs to get the spliff rolling, watching through thick clouds of smoke as Dusty approaches. She is beautiful. Tall with long hair that reaches her waist, her makeup is still perfectly manicured though he knows she has labored the past two hours performing and before that for half an hour on the main stage.

She pulls the spliff out from between his lips, taking a long drag of her own before handing it back.

He plucks at the black elastic floss that wraps around her belly. “What is this?” He ponders with a tilt of his head. “What do you call this outfit?” He has to sit back in his seat to see her fully.

“A bodysuit.” Dusty grins, swaying a little to show off her outfit. Then, as if on autopilot, she moves into a dance, rolling her hips towards him.

“Don’t know much about women’s clothing,” Hvitserk chuckles, stretching out his legs to make room for Dusty’s little dance. “This ain’t a bodysuit.” He reaches up, tapping the edge of a flower motif that covers one nipple. There is underwire supporting her breasts but otherwise the outfit is all string and bits of lace.

Dusty laughs, that deep throaty sound that he first heard at the pub downtown all those years ago when he watched her get kicked out for being underage. She had laughed in the bouncer's face, fearless of the oversized muscles and excessive testosterone. Hvitserk had followed her outside watching as she fought against the bouncer, wiggling like a wildcat in his grip until he had practically thrown her on the streets but she had kept her balance, regardless of the fact that she wore skinny stiletto heels. Hvitserk knew instantly The Valkyrie needed her.

“They seem to like it.” Dusty shrugs her shoulders, nodding her head to the metaphorical customers who had gaped at her outfit, their minds foggy with little fantasies playing through their heads of all the things they would do to said strings if only they could touch her.

“Bet they did,” Hvitserk replies, head rolling back against his seat as the spliff takes a hold of his mind. He reaches out to caress the skin where two straps overlap but Dusty brushes away his touch with a swipe of her hand even as her hips sway towards him.

“No touching,” she whispers even as her hands caress the length of her body as if trying to tempt him. Touching her breasts. The sides of her body. The straps he so desperately wants to snap just to hear her hiss in pain.

Hvitserk huffs in contempt. He knows the rules, he was present when his brothers had worked to create them. He can’t help but feel insulted by Dusty keeping to them even after he has agreed to Ubbe’s special request.

“Not yet,” she adds when she notices his pouting. She caresses his chin before she turns to sit in his lap, grinding against him.

She starts slow. Her bare ass cheeks are a whisper against the fabric of his slacks. Dropping low to the ground, her fingers wrap around his thighs, digging into his flesh, an aid as she sways back up. Arching her back she rolls until she settles in his lap, grinding a little deeper this time.

He can feel a growl working its way up his throat, mouth twitching as he tries to swallow it.

Dusty’s head rolls back to rest next to his. “Sorry,” she lies. “It's only that I like to tease you.”

For now, he thinks. His fingers curl into fists on his lap.

Ubbe is quiet when he enters the room, slipping through the curtains without a sound. Hvitserk almost doesn’t hear him; he is too focused on Dusty grinding against his crotch.

Ubbe’s eyes drag across Hvitserk and Dusty’s precarious placement but says nothing.

Ubbe is here to watch and that is all.

Hvitserk can’t help but lift his hips up against Dusty’s. He is excited at the prospect to come. There is nothing quite as satisfying as humiliating a sibling. And Ubbe has asked for it directly.

His brother sits in the single chair in the room.

It is the only black in an otherwise red room. The leather padding with chrome edges reflect off the chandelier overhead and the red neon lights on the floor. It casts a glow around Ubbe’s head as he leans against the headrest.

The chair is designed to make their VIP guests feel special when they book the overly priced semi-private room. Set apart from the rest, it draws the eye.

“A seat for a king,” Ivar had smiled when the chairs were delivered in the months after they had bought the building that would later become The Valkyrie. Ivar had designed one for all the private rooms, each more grand than the last.

Ubbe looks like a king.

Observing his subjects.

And Hvitserk has always enjoyed putting on a show.

Licking his lips Hvitserk leans forward to ask, “and now?” His voice comes out a rough scratch, he wants to instead tell her that he is going to touch her. His fingers dance across his pant leg.

“Yes,” Dusty purrs. Hvitserk’s hands latch onto her sides. His fingers are icy cold against Dusty’s warm exercised body and a yelp of surprise bursts out her mouth. She tries to keep out of his touch but he holds her, pulling her back into his lap.

She giggles, trying to catch her breath.

“Do you tell him what to do?” Hvitserk's voice is low in Dusty’s ear. He motions to Ubbe with a nod of his head. “Or is it the other way around?” He asks, tickling her sides and she wiggles in his lap.

“Depends,” Dusty breathlessly answers. Her gaze is trapped on Ubbe as she rolls her hips against Hvitserk. “Depends on the day. What mood I’m in.” She leans her back against his chest, reaching her arm around his head to thread her fingers through the knot that makes up Hvitserk’s hair. “Whatever mood he’s in.” She nods her head towards Ubbe while still tugging at Hvitserk’s hair.

“What mood are you in?” she asks the question innocently, the hitch in her voice like that of when she talks to her customers. Asking them what they want as if they truly have any say in the matter.

Laughter tickles his throat.

“To fuck you,” he answers. The laughter that was once trapped, reverberates out of his chest when Dusty shyly peaks at him, her gaze finally drawn away from Ubbe. She is surprised to hear him speak this way. She only knows him as Ubbe’s faithful dog and Ivar’s loyal sidekick. She has never seen him otherwise.

Her mouth is close to his cheek as she takes him in, half impressed by his boldness, a smile curls on her painted lips.

Hvitserk licks his lips to drown out the next round of laughter that wants to burst forth, watching as Dusty’s smile turns into a look of wonderment.

“That’s what he wants, huh?” Hvitserk’s gaze does not falter from her mouth. He wonders what it must taste like. Does she taste of Ubbe or is she distinctly her own? Is she minty like the gum she chews vigorously during pole practice or is she spicy like the perfume she spritz before her performance?

“ - for me to fuck you,” he confirms with a nod of his head. He drags his gaze away from her plump lips to her eyes, seeking that confirmation before he begins.

She nods her head. “Yeah.” Her voice is a whisper even in the quiet room.

“Say it.”

“I want you to fuck me, Hvitserk.”

“There it is.” He leans back as he laughs heartily and then lurches forward, pressing his lips against hers because he can’t go without knowing what she tastes like.

She is a cool mint with a hint of fruit, leftover from the lipgloss she had applied that evening. She is nothing like his girl, Honey B, who is all sweet and sugary.

Honey is somewhere in The Valkyrie giving lap dances to a bachelor party in one of the exclusive VIP rooms. Hvitserk doesn’t like to know the exact room she is performing in, especially when she has been specifically requested. He would rather be ignorant, satisfied with the idea that Ivar can check the cameras in the room at any moment making certain she is safe.

Hvitserk has to be okay with her dancing naked for these strangers. It would be hypocritical if he was not.

He understands why Ubbe wants this, to sit back and watch as Dusty calls out Hvitserk’s name as he’s balls deep inside of her. It’s a little piece of control in an otherwise uncontrollable world.

Hvitserk sighs, satisfied with the taste of her then nuzzles against her cheek and says quietly, “now take off that stupid fucking outfit and bend over for me.”

Dusty’s fingers freeze, wedged between the ties in his hair. “But I-”

Hvitserk nudges her to stand with his own hips. He’s done playing by Dusty’s rules. He’s ready to do what he promised. “You’ll be screaming my name by the time I’m done with you,” he says knowingly.

Dusty sways on her heels, dumbfounded for a moment, as if she can’t believe she is going through with it. She glances over at Ubbe. One last chance before they all cross a line they cannot undo.

Ubbe is as still as a rock on his throne, legs spread out wide, arms resting on the sides of the chair, glass tumblr full of iced down whiskey tilts back and forth as he assesses them. His gaze darts across Dusty then to Hvitserk and back again to her. His brow arches, leaving the answer in Dusty’s hands. She can walk away but it is now or never.

She glances at Hvitserk, nods her head, then her hands find the clasp of her bra.

There are too many hooks and ties of her bodysuit for Hvitserk to keep track but she somehow manages to gracefully strip naked.

She looks back at him when she is done undressing. She is almost as tall as him in her heels but he wants to see what she looks like bent over and he nods towards the stage.

Go on.

Gracefully she climbs the stairs, unperturbed by the fact that she is the only naked person in the room. She is unlike Honey B who Hvitserk is certain had never been nude, even in the privacy of her own home, except for the few moments when she was changing clothes or getting out of the shower, before she came to The Valkyrie.

Hvitserk tugs on the slacks of his pants wondering if Honey will ever bend over nicely for him like that. Dusty’s ass is presented to him in the most delicious manner, his hand itches to smack it, to turn it a bright red. Dusty is all curves and thick muscle while Honey is petite and small and Hvitserk’s mouth twitches at the idea of both girls in bed with him.

His hand soothes across the expanse of Dusty’s back, taking his time to knead her fleshy hips and then no longer able to help himself, smacks her ass. The hiss of pain out of her lips is enough to make it worth the sharp glare she sends over her shoulder.

He hides the smile of delight behind the back of his hand but Dusty knows better, she has seen his mocking smirk enough to be able to see the signs in the way his eyes brighten or how his cheeks redden. He cannot hide himself from her or Ubbe who shifts in his seat across from him.

Ubbe treads the line of wanting to protect Dusty and to allow her to set her own boundaries. The glass of whiskey in Ubbe’s hand swirls the ball of ice inside and then his mouth twitches slightly when Dusty stretches out long like a cat, anticipating what she will try to do to Hvitserk.

She wants to play a game with Hvitserk, one both Ubbe and Hvitserk have witnessed enough. The one where she tries to coax the customers into booking a private room with her or throw her an extra note just for being. It works most of the time. She is soft and submissive, letting them think it is their idea, that paying more for a room is to their advantage. That, maybe, they might get a chance to mold Dusty to their liking. But it’s never their idea though they fall for it time and time again. She will always hold the power. Stringing them along as she dances her dance.

Hvitserk hooks his arm under Dusty’s waist, hoisting her back to her previous position, pulling her hips higher in the air. “No,” he corrects her with another slap on her ass. “You’ll stay.”

He ignores her hiss pain, his hand traveling between her legs to palm the lips of her vulva. She is wet and sticky. “You like that, huh?” he asks but doesn’t wait to hear her reply, his teeth sinking into her fleshy bottom. “Need someone to tell you what to do.” He pushes a single digit inside her and she sighs in satisfaction.

“Say it,” he mumbles, lips brushing the flesh above her hip while his thumb circles the outer edges of her clit, not quite touching her where she wants.

“Yes,” she breathes out, head cradling in her arms as if she is too afraid to look up to say it but Hvitserk knows Dusty is rarely afraid. “I need you to tell me what to do.”

Hvitserk hums, swallowing the smile that wants to spread across his mouth. “Do better.”

There is a beat of silence as Dusty contemplates her answer.

“Please,” she whimpers. “Hvitserk.”

A self satisfied grin graces Hvitserk’s lips and he glances at Ubbe to make certain his brother has heard his girl beg for him. To add insult to injury Hvitserk’s playful thumb swirls against Dusty’s clit causing her to moan. Hvitserk catches Ubbe’s half concealed roll of his eyes before moving on to paying closer attention to Dusty.

His mouth replaces his fingers and he finds that she is delightfully delicious. She shutters under his tongue and he has to grab a hold of her hips to keep her steady. Once he has her where he wants her his thumb finds her clit and her moans get louder.

Dusty sings a sputtering moan that causes Hvitserk’s mouth to curl around the lips of her pussy. His hand, that had once held her in place, moves to find her breast.

“Hvitserk,” Dusty cries out when his tongue prods deeper inside of her while simultaneously smoothing his thumb over her clit. “Gods, don’t stop.”

Dusty’s chest is heaving as he caresses her breast, tugging on her nipple. He loves the way she is tightening up, but he wants to be balls deep inside of her when she comes so that he can see the look on Ubbe’s face when she unravels under his touch. He takes one last long lick of her pussy.

“Honey,” Ubbe’s voice is gruff as he calls out the name. Dusty’s heaving breath all but stops, her head snaps up to look at Ubbe.

Hvitserk is almost uncertain if he has heard his brother correctly. Slowly Hvitserk untangles himself from Dusty’s body.

Honey B is frozen between the velvet curtains. She is dwarfed by their immaculate size, looking like a slutty pop star with her knee high latex platforms and teeny tiny skirt that does nothing to hide her ass. Her glittery makeup and high set ponytail all point towards the hand of her friend, Dusty, who helped her get ready that evening.

“Oh fuck,” Dusty exclaims sitting back on her heels so fast that she knocks her head again Hvitserk’s chin. “Fuck,” she cries out again, this time caressing the back of her head.

“Are you okay?” Hvitserk is quick to ask, hand hovering over Dusty’s as if some kind of combined power will heal her quicker.

The sound of Honey’s heels clacking against the painted cement floor brings Hvitserk back to the present as he watches Honey disappear back to the main hall.

“Ubbe.” Hvitserk gestures uselessly to Dusty who is still cradling her head as he scrambles to his feet. He does not have time to care for Dusty. He’s got to stop Honey before she leaves The Valkyrie. Or worse yet, leaves him.

There are men calling out Honey’s name. Now that she is a household face in the establishment she is a popular request among the regulars who frequent The Valkyrie. She dodges their advances with ease; she is small enough to duck around the crowds that get in her way.

Hvitserk is not as lucky. His large frame keeps him from advancing on Honey. He just needs to talk to her. Look her in the eyes and explain exactly what she had just seen. Surely she’ll understand.

My brother wanted me to fuck his girlfriend. It’s a kink for him. You see? It means nothing.

Honey heads for the front entrance. No jacket, no bag, just her skimpy little outfit to take her anywhere but the club. She has no car, Hvitserk drove her to work that day and this late at night the bus only comes around every half an hour. She clearly does not have a plan for escape. He is worried that once she steps out of that door he will never see her again.

He can’t let that happen.

He won’t.

Jamming the radio back into his ear he presses the button clipped to his belt. “Don’t let her out,” he practically shouts, not waiting to see if anyone else is on the line already. He repeats himself a few more times. “Don’t let Honey leave.”

He waits a few bated breaths before one of the bouncers replies, “she’s here.”

“What the fuck is going on Hvitserk?” Ivar’s demands over the radio, his voice a loud screech in his ear.

“What do you want me to do with her?” asks the head bouncer. Hvitserk can imagine him towering over Honey’s short frame while he waits for further instruction.

“Take her to the back office,” Hvitserk manages to reply between Ivar’s bursts of contempt.

“I don’t know if she’ll go peacefully,” the bouncer replies. Hvitserk can now see the top of Honey’s head. There is a crowd gathering, also blocked from leaving. One of the bouncers nudges her shoulder, whispering in her ear.

She walks with the bouncer for a few steps, resigned to her fate before she bursts forward, running past Hvitserk. She does not see him in her panic and he is able to catch her by her belly, scooping her up so that he can throw her over his shoulder.

“Let me down, you oaf!” she screams, pounding his back in a vain attempt to hurt him.

“We can touch the girls now?” One patron asks in glee.

Ivar has somehow found Hvitserk in the chaos and snarls at the patron, “no.” Then nods his head to his personal guard motioned to throw the idiot out.

Hvitserk marches on to the back office, simultaneously ignoring Ivar’s demands for an explanation and Honey’s pounding fists on his back.

As gracefully as he can, Hvitserk drops Honey on Ubbe’s desk, it is practically void of any clutter unlike his own that is just a collection of junk mail and leftover wrappers from lunch, then turns back to address Ivar who is waiting on the other side of the door.

“What fuck is this?” Ivar snarls, pointing to the closed door. Honey is probably banging on the other side but the room is soundproof so the only one who can hear her is herself.

“I’m dealing with it,” Hvitserk gruffly replies. He does not have the head space to explain the situation twice. “We had a disagreement.”

Dusty’s voice echoes down the hallway. “Did you find her?”

Ivar snarls openly at being ignored and turns to Dusty to yell. “You’re supposed to be on the floor.” He is leaning heavily on his cane as he points an accusatory finger in her direction.

Ubbe rounds the corner, long legs keeping stride with Dusty’s slow jog.

“What are you going to say to her?” Ubbe asks when he is near enough not to be troubled with shouting.

“I’ll ask again,” Ivar stresses slowly between clenched teeth. “What the hell happened?”

The three of them turn to look at Ivar each with their unique expression of guilt dripping off their features.

Ivar sighs, running a hand along the length of his face. “I don’t think I want to know any longer.”

“I’ll talk to her,” Ubbe announces once Ivar is out of view.

“No,” Hvitserk shakes his head. “It needs to come from me.”

“I think Ubbe is right,” Dusty says, resting a hand on Hvitserk’s shoulder. He glances at the offending appendage as if it is burning him but Dusty is unperturbed by his looks of grief. Hvitserk would vow to never speak to Dusty again if that would appease Honey but he knows likely that will not solve the problem.

“Fine,” Hvitserk says with a bowed head stepping aside to let Ubbe through the door.

*****

It feels like hours since Ubbe had closed the door on Hvitserk’s face, the club had to be closing soon. It was long enough that he’d broken out in a cold sweat pacing the halls, waiting for Honey to exit the room.

She looks pissed when she finally comes out. Hvitserk has never seen this side of her. Eyes dark in the dimly lit hall they slice across him like knives twisting in his chest and belly.

“Honey,” he breathes out, reaching for her.

“No.” She shakes her head, sliding away from his outstretched hand. “You don’t get to touch me.”

Hvitserk teeth grind together as he grimaces, glaring in his brother’s direction, who stands near the office door, unmoving, like a statue carved frozen for centuries to come. Ubbe hardly seems to care that this is all his fault.

“And you don’t get to be mad at him either,” Honey says, pointing in Ubbe’s direction. “You had just as much choice in this as him.”

Hvitserk scrubs at his face, trying to untangle his mouth. If only he could find the words to explain his reasoning then she would understand.

“I’m pissed,” Honey says, crossing her arms across her chest, brown eyes never leaving his face. A smile tickles Hvitserk’s mouth as he looks down at her, small and mighty, trying not to let the pride swell in his chest. Since starting to work at the strip club her confidence has grown tenfold. He has watched each day grow a little wider until it now stands before him unmovable. When he first met her she could hardly look him in the eyes. He turns his neck, looking at his feet instead, so that he does not accidently smile stupidly in her face.

“I need space,” she declares, pulling Hvitserk back to reality. He nods his head vigorously, letting her know he is listening, his fingers tightening into fists at his sides, trying to keep himself from reaching out and pulling her into a hug. “I don’t forgive you but," she sighs heavily through her nose. "I’m trying to understand.”

Hvitserk winces at her statement. He hates it when she’s mad at him. His fingers twitch at his side he wants to touch her so badly.

“Space,” she commands and Hvitserk nods his head, resigning not to touch her until she forgives him.

#smuttyvikings #hvitserk fanfiction #vikings fanfic #ubbe #ubbe ragnarsson #hvitserk #hvitserk ragnarsson #hvitserk x oc #hvitserk smut

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