𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒌 𝒔𝒐𝒏𝒈 ✩ Ivar The Boneless

✩ chapter V, act II ✩

"You taste like ash, chaos, and death. You never were a human being were you?"
chapter V, act II ✧ 𝒓𝒆𝒅-𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒊𝒏𝒆𝒅 𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒔

She settled quietly in between Ivar and Ubbe. The coldness of Mercia made the girl shiver every five seconds, noticing her bones rattling with chills and her red nose, Hvitserk motioned to stand up and she glared at him in disapproval.

The boy had been trying to get on her good side once again, but he achieved nothing, she wasn't mad at him, she was mad at herself for feeling for him, even in the slightest.

Ivar looked at the girl, and her soul suddenly set ablaze, he pulled her into his lap, resting his chin on her shoulder. That had seemed to be recurring, they both loved the position, the feeling of each other.

She slouched against his chest and his arms wrapped around her, allowing her to grab the fabric he had and hug herself.

Both of them were wrapped in the furs and blanket. His hands moved to her waist and a breath hitched in her throat, "It seems to me that the Saxons are as timid as frightened women. Their hearts are faint. I don't think they can truly trouble us."

She nodded in agreement, her eyes meeting Hvitserk's for a split second, a smirk on his face, his eyes challenging.

Ivar's hands trailed down her legs and she had to contain herself from looking at him and questioning his acts. Yet she was enjoying it way too much to do something.

"You don't know enough, Ivar. You haven't seen enough," Björn mumbled, growing annoyed at his little brother's cockiness, "these are brave men. I've fought against them, you haven't."

Ivar's hands gripped her thighs, his anger dissolving into his touch. She bit back a moan, Hvitserk's eyes filled with playfulness at the sight of her, he had a slight idea of what was going on, and though he was somehow pleased with the challenge, he was... jealous.

Nobody else noticed anything, though, "I can only see what my eyes tell me, Bjorn. And what I see is frightened people running before us. I see their spineless God running away from our gods."

He ran his fingers over her hipbone, trailing them slightly down, teasingly before bringing them to rest on her thighs once again. Nero loved his touch, she should live in it. Their bodies fit together like the moon and the sky. They belonged.

Ubbe, growing tired of all the bickering, offered his brother mead, Ivar's left hand trailed softly over the inside of Nero's left thigh before slipping it off the blanket and accepting the mug.

The oldest son of Aslaug sighed, "For once, why don't you just listen to an older, wiser brother? These people who are running away, they're not warriors. They are not the ones who will stay and fight to defend this kingdom."

"And protect their honor. For what is a warrior without honor?" Ivar's body responded to Sigurd's comment much like Nero wished she could have responded, her need to laugh was great, but somehow, she controlled herself.

"I don't know, you tell me brother," Ivar chuckled, pulling away from the girl's body so he could drink from his cup, "and... tell me again, how many battles have you fought?"

Ivar put his cup down, his hand coming under the blanket once again. He wrapped his arms around the girl's waist, standing up straight as his chest was brought flush against her back.

Sigurd looked at Ivar, his eyes blazing with anger, Nero allowed her gaze to fall on Hvitserk once again, he licked his lips at the sight of her and she groaned, rolling her eyes, making Ivar look at her in wonder, "Same as you, brother, except I don't ride around in a comfortable bloody chariot!"