The Apologist and the Viking: A Tale of Forbidden Love


Kent leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes. He’d spent the last few hours working on his newest article on dinosaur riding apparatuses, and it was time for a break. Kent stood up from his desk, stretched, and went to the refrigerator for a lemon aid. Heeding the righteous call of God is thirsty work. Taking a sip from his lemon aid, Kent made his way back to his desk, sat down, and opened the screen on his laptop. He stared at his work, reading over it for mistakes, the glow of the screen lighting his face in the darkness of the room. Nearly perfect, he thought to himself, and he resolved to put in the finishing touches, in the morning. It was time for something fun.

Kent pulled up his YouTube account and began scrolling through his feed, looking for atheist content to destroy with his superior intellect, and skill for logic.

He watched a couple of Paulogia, and Godless Cranium videos, then he stumbled across something new, In Time with Nicholas Soutter and some chap named Ansgar Odinson. Kent giggled at that name. He picked a video at random, and leaned back in his chair, sipping his lemon aid: he would need a refill soon.

After what seemed like an eternity of waiting screen passed, the video finally began. There, before him, was Ansgar, the Viking King. Kent was instantly stricken by the bearded, blonde, Nordic beauty looking back him from the screen.

“My God.” Kent whispered, the voices of a thousand Valkyrie roaring in his loins.

Never had he seen such an example of manhood. Such supple features, a gaze as fierce as nor’easter winds, lips full and silky; Kent watched them move and wished they were pressed against his own. Lost in thought and filled with awe, Kent slipped into a private world of wonder, and mystery; where his Viking King awaited him.


Thunder crashes in the distance, a young stable boy finishes locking down the horses in preparation for the coming storm. As he closes up the barn to head in for the evening, he sees a man, on horseback approaching the farm.

“Health and happiness, young man, I am Ansgar Odinson.” Ansgar said. “Where is the master of this farm?”

“Health and happiness sir, He is away seeing after the sales from the harvest” Kent answered “May I offer lodging? I have a nice lamb stew, and some bread and mead inside. I fear the coming storm will be fierce.”

“Aye, rest and a bit of mead will do me good. I am weary from my travels.” Ansgar replied.

Kent felt a thrill in his heart as the big man dismounted his horse, the muscles in his thighs and arms bulging. He handed Kent the reigns and went into the house to wait. Kent watched until the Ansgar disappeared, then went to stable his horse, a big steed as was necessary to carry the weight of the man.

As he rubbed the horse down, Kent couldn’t help but fantasize that he was rubbing down Ansgar instead. He imagined the vikings powerful muscles first tensing, and then giving way to his firm touch. He heard in his mind the hot, heavy breath, and gentle moans as he worked the tension from Ansgars body.

Kent put away his tools, and locked down the barn, securing the animals.  heading into the cottage, took deep breaths to clear his head, and slow his pulse. he could not feel this way, it was forbidden.

Upon entering the cottage, Kent found Ansgar reclined with his massive feet up on a footstool, drinking a horn of mead.

“I helped myself to a drink.” Ansgar said, smiling.

“I am glad, sir. I am sorry for the delay.” Kent replied  “I was seeing after your horse, its a fine steed, sir.”

“Aye, it is indeed.” answered Ansgar, giving the young man a long, steady look.

Kent blushed, and shuffled a bit.

“Shall I fetch your dinner, sir?” Kent asked.

“Aye, I’m famished, you’ll be joining me of course. I have many questions about the country ahead.”

Thunder crashed overhead, and the first gales of the storm billowed around the cottage. The young man moved to the kitchen, and served up two bowls of stew, a loaf of bread, and fetched a fresh keg of mead. He set the table and Ansgar moved to join him.

As they supped and spoke, Kent felt a yearning in his loins, a deep need to kiss, and be ravaged by this man.

After dinner concluded, Kent tidied up and joined the the viking in the main room.

“Come and sit next to me.” Ansgar said, his deep booming voice sending quivers up Kents spine.

“Gladly sir.” Kent replied, moving over to sit close to Ansgar, his heart thrumming in his chest.

“I’ve noticed your gaze upon me, and see the need in your eyes.” Ansgar said. “You’re a very comely young man”

“Thank you, sir.” Kent replied submissively.

“Come sit on my lap” Ansgar said.

Kent moved to where Ansgar was sitting, obediently settled into the big mans lap. Something firm, and surprisingly large pressed against his buttocks.

“I have been sometime without affection, and your’e shapely figure has aroused me.” Ansgar breathed into his ear. “Would you pass the evening in my embrace?”

“I am yours, Ansgar.” Kent moaned.

Ansgar pulled Kent in to kiss him, and Kent exploded in a sea of fiery lust, and strangely enough his lions went cold, uncomfortably so.


Kent jumped up from his computer table, pants soaked with iced lemon-aid.

Kent went to his room, and changed his pants: no small feat, considering the erection he had.The dream had been so real. He could almost smell the aroma of oil, and man-musk the beautiful viking had emitted.

Oh well, he thought, the mood was ruined for now, but he always had later.

He would return, in due time, to the simple life of a stable hand, and the beautiful viking; Ansgar, the picture of manhood, the mighty warrior, who would rescue him from his meager existence, and whirl him away to high adventure, in his firm and loving embrace.

Freshly changed into his bed-clothes, Kent settled back and dreamed.


This story is meant as satire. None of the events of this story are meant to be taken literally by anyone. Just a fun bit of fiction, for a laugh.

I love you all.






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