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pokeasleepingsmaug · 7 years

Text

Slow Hands

A modern Ubbe AU where the reader manages an equine sanctuary and Ubbe is the new farrier. Because let’s face it, dudes and horses..... It just WORKS. Plus I feel it’s a job Ubbe would enjoy, working with his hands and with animals all the time. It just feels right to me.

Trigger warnings: mention of animal abuse/neglect. Very mild nsfw.

Word Count: 3, 996

AO3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/11570421

Finding a farrier was always such a pain, and of course as soon as the horses had gotten familiar with John, he'd thrown his back out. “Don't worry, I'm sending my apprentice. He's great with horses, good hands, calm voice. Even yours will be alright with him, I promise.” You were the assistant manager of an equine sanctuary that about fifty horses, ponies, mules and donkeys, all rescued from various forms of abuse or neglect, called home. Needless to say, there were some pretty severe.... issues that some of the horses had. You were about to protest, but he must have read your mind. “Shari met him last week. Loved him. I brought him to the sanctuary to help me with Ruby's shoes. Wanted to see what he thought. He helped me design them. Shari said they're helping?” His question was pointed.

You sighed, hating to admit defeat. “Yeah, they are. A lot, actually.”

“Ubbe will be there at one. You're the last appointment of the day, you guys usually take a whole afternoon.”

“Ubbe?” You sputtered, still looking for an excuse not to like him. “What kind of name is that?”

“He's from Sweden,” John explained. “Just give him a chance, okay? He's good, I taught him myself.”

“Fine,” you sighed. John chuckled before saying goodbye, and you hung up with another sigh. It was noon, and a dozen horses were scheduled to get their hooves taken care of today. Only Ruby would need shoes. Most of the horses at the sanctuary went without them unless they had a medical reason for them, like Ruby. Even an apprentice should be able to trim hooves, but it would still be a long afternoon. You went to start bringing in the horses.

...

You stood in the barn doorway, arms crossed, watching the green truck rumble slowly up the driveway. You'd given the horses a quick once-over with a soft brush, knocking the worst of the dust off them, and spending time with them had calmed your annoyance. Not even an apprentice farrier could shake your good mood now, you told yourself. The truck parked, and as the man climbed out of it, the breath left you in a rush. He was tall and handsome, even with his hair pulled back in a long braid. You didn't usually like long hair on guys, but on him, it worked. He grabbed a toolbox out of the bed of the truck before starting toward the barn with a long, easy stride.

He smiled as he saw you leaning against the door and stretched his right hand out to you. It was strong and calloused, but his grip was gentle as he shook your hand. “I'm Ubbe. You must be Y/n. John said to find you.” His voice was lightly accented, giving it an almost musical quality that put you immediately at ease. No wonder he was good with horses, with a voice like that.

“Yeah, come on in. John said you met Ruby before?” You asked, leading him to Ruby's stall. The little chestnut mare stuck her head over the half-door, greeting you with a gentle headbutt. You laughed and kissed between her eyes, grabbing her halter and slipping inside the stall. You led her out into the aisle.

“Ah, I remember you, sweet girl. Let's have a look at those shoes, hmm?” Ubbe crooned, voice soft and low. Ruby whickered, the quiet, affectionate noise horses reserved for people they trusted. You felt a pang of jealousy; you'd had to work hard for the old mare's affection. Ubbe stroked her silky neck before bending down, sliding his hand down her shoulder and leg, stopping at her hoof and applying a little pressure. Ruby lifted her hoof slowly, and you craned your neck to try to see. Stupid Ubbe and his broad back. You could see the definition of his muscles through the thin blue t-shirt he wore, and mentally slapped yourself into focusing on Ruby. It was hard though, with him bent over like that. You noted he had a nice butt before mentally scolding yourself again.

“This one looks good, and her hoof isn't long enough to need a trim yet. John only put these on her a couple weeks ago, he just wanted me to check on her. I'll look at her other hooves and then would you walk her for me, maybe a little trot, just to see how she's moving?”

“Sure,” you agreed, working hard to keep the approval out of your voice.

Ubbe raised his eyebrows at you as he straightened, moving to the hind hoof. “John said you would be hard to win over.” A slow, lazy smile spread over his handsome face, and you had to work hard to not just agree with him.

“I am not!” You disagreed, maybe a little too forcefully.

He laughed, picking up the hoof to inspect it. “Mmm, of course not. It's not a bad thing to be protective of these horses.” He stood and walked to Ruby's other side, trailing a hand above her tail to let her know he was still there, keep her from spooking. He finished checking Ruby's hooves in silence, nodding in approval. He fondly patted her shoulder. “Her hooves look great and the shoes don't need to be adjusted. Can you walk her for me?”

You led Ruby to the little grassy area outside the barn. You led her away from Ubbe so he could watch her hind legs, then toward him so he could watch her front legs. “The walk looks great,” he called. “Can she trot?”

“I've seen her trot in her field,” you answered, coaxing the chestnut into a trot. She obeyed, and you could swear you felt eyes on your ass as you jogged alongside her. You scolded yourself. He was here to take care of the horses, not to flirt with you. You turned Ruby and caught Ubbe smiling a little to himself, but his eyes were firmly on the mare, not you. You slowed her to a walk, and she heaved a longing sigh in the direction of the grass. “If she's good, I'm going to turn her out before I grab Gunner for you.”

“Of course.” Ubbe waved you off, pulling a water bottle from his toolbox. You turned Ruby into her field and jogged back. He was in the barn when you returned, chattering idly at Romeo in his stall.

“He bites,” you warned.

“Don't sound so much like you're hoping he already bit me,” Ubbe laughed. You didn't dignify that with a response, only brought Gunner out into the aisle to get his hooves trimmed. Ubbe grabbed the clippers from his toolbox. You tried to ignore the perfect shape of his butt and upper strong upper thighs, the broad expanse of his muscular back and the way his damp t-shirt clung to his skin, but you were finding it harder and harder to dislike him. His voice was soothing as a lullaby, his manner steady and calm. He finished trimming Gunner's hooves quickly, and the two of you passed the afternoon in companionable ease as he took care of the rest of the horses.

He straightened, stretching his back out, as you led Romeo back to his stall. “There should be one more, right?”

You nodded, settling Romeo in. “Yeah, just Bucky.” You sighed. “I really wanted John to take care of him, but...” you trailed off, shrugging. “You've done fine with the rest so far.”

Ubbe laughed. “Thanks for the resounding approval. Bring him out.”

“It's never that easy with Bucky. He's only been here about a week. He's in the quarantine barn. We put all the new ones there until we're sure they don't have anything contagious.” You explained, leading him out. The quarantine barn was only a short walk from the main barn. It was much smaller, only two large box stalls and a small feed room. You changed into the muck boots sitting just inside the door. Everyone had to change their shoes when leaving the quarantine barn, in case there was parasites in the manure. “Here, John leaves an extra pair of boots here just in case,” you explained, motioning to them. Ubbe changed into them quickly, then followed you into the barn.

It was light and airy, all the doors and windows open. Bucky was out in the small, grassy turn-out area that his stall opened into, and from there he could see some other horses in their field so he wouldn't feel lonely. At night you brought one of the goats into the barn to keep him company. You opened the stall door, halter in hand, crooning Bucky's name.

He charged in through the field door, ears pinned and teeth flashing as he snapped. You backed quickly out of the stall, murmuring softly, explaining, “he wasn't handled too much and he hates being in the barn. He was locked in a stall for most of his life, it's why he's so small. Stunted his growth.” You were used to the sight of Bucky by now, but he'd shocked even you at first: emaciated, rough coat and ragged mane, hooves so long he could barely hobble. With a few good meals in him and his hooves trimmed last week by John, he'd gotten some life back into him. All that meant, though, was that now he had the strength to protect himself from the perceived danger that was humans.

“Would he be more comfortable in his paddock?” Ubbe asked.

“Probably,” you admitted. He followed you outside. You easily climbed the fence, again swearing you felt eyes on you, and again telling yourself you were crazy. Bucky snorted as the two of you landed in his paddock, but he made no move to charge you this time. He was smaller than he should have been, still too skinny, but he had some fire in his eyes now. He stood tense on his cracked, overgrown hooves, eyeing the two of you with head held high and nostrils flared. “Bucky,” you called out softly, starting toward him. One slow step at a time, murmuring softly the whole way, you finally made it to his side. You kept the halter on him, since he was hard to catch, so you just snapped the lead rope on it.

“Good boy, bud,” you praised, gently scratching his shoulder. He huffed, still uneasy, but allowed the touch. He followed you slowly, still nervous. He snorted and planted his overgrown hooves in the grass when you got close to Ubbe, refusing to budge another step.

“Easy now, big fella,” Ubbe intoned in his soothing, melodious voice. Bucky tossed his head a little. “I'm going to help you feel better so you can go play in the fields and make new friends.” He held out one hand, Bucky whuffed his palm, cautious, distrusting. “That's it, that's it, steady now, friend.” He slowly reached up to stroke between Bucky's eyes. He flinched only a little.

Ubbe slowly bent down, setting down his toolbox and grabbing his clippers. He walked to Bucky's side, singing in that calm voice of his, in a pretty language that you assumed was Swedish. He laid one soft hand on Bucky's shoulder and left it there, motionless, continuing to sing, as he waited for the little gelding to stop trembling. With a heavy sigh, Bucky dropped his head ever so slightly. Ubbe slid his hand down Bucky's leg and applied pressure at the top of the hoof, clucking his tongue once. Bucky hesitated and Ubbe waited, patient, until the horse decided to lift his hoof.

Finally he did with a big sigh, and Ubbe placed the hoof between his knees to hold it and went to work with his clippers. He worked slower on Bucky than any of the other horses, singing in that language the whole time. He finished with the first hoof and set it on the ground. He moved to the rear hoof, still singing. Bucky swung his head around to watch him, ears pinned, suddenly tense. “Bucky,” you warned, voice a little firmer than normal as you tugged gently on the lead rope, asking him to turn to face you. That was when he decided he'd had enough.

Bucky lunged, pulling his hoof from between Ubbe's knees. He reared up onto his hind legs, tugging the rope from your hands as you dodged his swinging hooves. One glanced off your arm as you jumped back, scanning for Ubbe. He'd been knocked over but seemed to have rolled out of the way. He'd jumped up into a crouch. Deciding he was free now, Bucky turned and ran to the other side of the paddock, tail streaming behind him. He huddled against the far fence, quivering.

You sighed, rubbing your arm as Ubbe walked over to you. “Did he get you?”

“He got my arm a little, not bad though. You?”

Ubbe rubbed his jaw, you could already see the beginning of what would be a deep purple bruise blossoming under his skin. “He cracked me with his leg.” He shook his head ruefully, spitting out a mouthful of blood. “And I bit the inside of my cheek.”

“Alright, let me get the lead rope off him. Do you have time to come back tomorrow? I can get the vet to come and give him a tranquilizer. Shari wanted to see how he would do without one.”

Ubbe nodded. “I have some time in the morning.”

“Thank you. Once I get the rope off him, I'll take care of you.”

“Take care of me?” Ubbe asked, but you were already walking slowly to the shaking horse.

It had taken nearly twenty minutes and a handful of apple slices to get close enough to Bucky to take the lead rope off. “Come on,” you motioned to Ubbe after changing into your other boots. “I have a first aid kit in my apartment.” You lead him over to the main barn and up the back staircase hidden in the corner of the feed room. Your small apartment was above the feed room and part of the barn, making it easy for you to check on the horses before bed. More than once, you'd flown down the stairs in the middle of the night, roused by shrill whinnies or hooves thudding against wooden walls.

“Have a seat,” you instructed Ubbe, motioning to the couch in the small living room. He sat obediently as you walked into the kitchen first and grabbed two water bottles from the fridge. You tossed one to him as you walked into the bathroom to grab the first aid kit. You settled yourself on the couch beside Ubbe, opening the small plastic kit on your lap. “Open up,” you instructed.

He raised his brows at you. “I am not one of your horses, Y/n.”

“No, if you were, you would have listened by now,” you retorted. He laughed, opening his mouth. This close, you couldn't help but notice how white and even his teeth were—no wonder he had such a charming smile. He pulled his lower lip back so you could see the bite mark, and you hissed at the sight of it. “That must sting.”

“It doesn't tickle,” he agreed mildly as you dabbed at it with gauze. There wasn't too much you could do for it, given the placement of it. You inspected the bruise on his jaw, shaking your head.

“I'm sorry,” you sighed. “He'll be sedated tomorrow. I can probably get the vet here by nine.”

“Then I'll be here at nine.” He grinned at you. “It's an occupational hazard, don't worry about it.” He caught your wrist in his big, warm hand and pulled it closer to him, peering intently down at your arm. “I thought you said he just glanced you,” he accused, prodding it gently with his long, blunt fingers. You flinched. “It's alright,” he soothed automatically, like you were a nervous horse. “It's not so bad. Nasty bruise, though.”

He looked up at you through his long lashes, blue eyes unexpectedly tender. You tilted your head at him, questioning, and with a small smile he planted the gentlest of kisses in the center of the bruise covering your forearm. You drew your breath in, surprised. Maybe you hadn't been imagining his eyes on you earlier. Stunned into stupidity, the only thing you could think to say was, “the horses liked you. Usually their trust is harder to earn.”

Ubbe laughed, drawing a hot blush up your cheeks as you cursed yourself. Smooth like chunky peanut butter. “I bet they're not the only ones around here that don't trust easily.” His blue eyes were warm, and he turned the full force of his gaze to you. He tilted his wrist to look at his watch. He still hadn't let go of your arm, and he squeezed it gently. “It's almost six-thirty. May I take you somewhere for dinner, Y/n?”

“Why don't we get delivery and stay here? I have a bottle of wine,” you offered, suddenly bold. His eyes practically shot fire as they met yours, and he nodded. You quickly ordered Chinese from the place in town and settled back onto the couch, glasses of cheap merlot in hand. “So John said you're from Sweden?” you asked, taking a sip. You could feel it settling warm into your belly, and knew you'd feel it quickly. You hadn't eaten anything since before bringing the horses in for Ubbe, and a day in the sun made you relaxed and happy.

“I moved here as a child, with my mother and brothers,” he told you. “After our father ran off. She thought a change of scenery would be good for us.”

“Was it?” you asked, aware of how rude the question was. You were too intrigued not to know.

He nodded. “It was. My youngest brother, Ivar, he's in a wheelchair. Mom put him in therapeutic riding when we moved here. That's how I discovered my love for horses, and because of that I'm drinking wine with a beautiful woman.” He smiled, winking at you, as he lifted the glass toward you in a mock toast. You couldn't help but admire his hands—broad palms and long fingers, callouses at their base. You wondered how those hands would feel on your skin.

Ubbe must have read your mind, sliding his palms up your arms, raising goosebumps in their wake. The doorbell rang and you hastily jumped to answer it. You carried the bag of food back over to Ubbe, twirling his wineglass in his strong, graceful fingers. “Dinner's here,” you announced unnecessarily.

“I'm hungry for something besides Chinese, Y/n,” he said, voice practically a low growl washing over your skin. “Come here.” It was a gentle command, but one you were glad to obey as he opened his arms. He pulled you unceremoniously onto his lap, kissing you. His mouth was gentle and slow as his hands, rubbing circles on your back, and you melted into his touch. You parted your lips beneath his and his tongue slid into your mouth. He tasted of red wine and fresh air, his skin smelled faintly of leather and horses. In a word, he was intoxicating. Your hands moved to his head, fingers untangling the long braid and setting his hair free around his shoulders. It was almost as long as yours, wavy and dark blond, and you ran your fingers slowly through it. It was like silk in your hands, and seized by a sudden impulse, you pulled it roughly.

He groaned into your mouth, hands tightening in the fabric of your shirt. “If you do that again I can't be held responsible for what happens,” he warned lightly, moving his hands from your back to your hair and freeing it from the ponytail. He tugged lightly on it and you kissed him again, harder this time. You leaned back against the couch, using Ubbe's long, silky hair to pull him down on top of you.

Those slow hands of his all over you, sliding up your stomach and chest to pull your shirt over your head. He took his hands in yours and guided them up his body. You moaned at the feel of his hard abs beneath your hands, the shock of hair in the middle of his chest, before pulling his shirt over his head. You slid your hands down his shoulders to play with his chest hair for a few seconds before running your hands back down his abs and over his sides.

His hands were busy, too, and your bra sprang open at his touch. He tossed it to the side before wrapping his big hands around your breasts. He teased them for a bit before his wandering hands found their way to the waistband of your jeans. He unbuttoned them but left them on for now, stroking down below the waistband of your panties with one finger. “Your skin here is so soft,” he told you, nuzzling into your neck. “I could stroke it all night.”

“I hope you decide to put your hands to better use than that,” you laughed. He grinned, the corners of his blue eyes crinkling.

“Your wish is my command.” And with that, he yanked your pants and underwear down in one quick jerk. The sudden rush of air at your already wet core had you practically panting, but his usually slow hands were quick to take their place there. “But since you specifically requested my hands, I don't think you're getting anything but them tonight.”

You palmed his cock through his jeans and he ground himself against you, gasping. “Not even this?” Desire was plain in your voice.

He shook his head. “Not even that. Not until you let me take you on an actual date. I have my virtue to look after,” he teased, one finger lightly flicking your clit. You bucked at the touch, and he grinned down at you. You unbuttoned his jeans and reached into his boxers, wrapping your hands around his thick girth.

“Why bother taking my pants off then?” you asked, pouting, as you began to slowly stroke him up and down.

“Makes it easier. I make a living with my hands, and I want you to understand just how good they really are.” He dipped one finger slowly into your entrance, hooking it to hit a spot that made you moan. He pumped his finger experimentally into you a few times fore adding a second, his thumb caressing gently over your bud. He was right, his hands were good. Deliberate and thoughtful, those slow hands had you calling out his name in almost no time. Ubbe was attentive, watching your reactions to discern what you liked.

Your grip tightened on his cock, still stroking him, marveling at the length and width of him, as he changed the pace of his fingers. They quickened just a little, still curving within you to hit that sweet spot he'd discovered. One of his hands gently slapped your ass and you came apart, writhing beneath the power of Ubbe's slow hands. You could feel him shuddering over you, the warmth and stickiness of his cum as his manhood twitched in your hands.

You looked up at him, surprised. “I didn't think I would make you cum just from that.”

He rested his forehead against yours, meeting your eyes with a smile. “Hearing a woman moan for him does powerful things to a man.” He slid his fingers slowly from you and brought them to his mouth. He sucked on them, eyes rolling back in his head as he sighed in satisfaction. “Way better than Chinese food.”

#ubbe ragnarsson #ubbe lothbrok #the sinnamon roll #the quiet beast #ubbe imagine #ubbe fic #ivar's heathen army #except we need a tag like that for ubbe #vikings #vikings fic #vikings imagine

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