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The taste of ale rests heavy on Bjorn’s tongue and even though the night is clear he still finds himself stumbling his way through the dark. The fires they had started outside were only embers now, and the autumn chill was finally becoming unbearable. Those who weren’t unconscious from drink were beginning their slow meander to warmer shelter inside, Bjorn among them.
He starts his way toward the nearest still-standing cottage before a strong hand grips his arm. He makes a grab at the person before properly turning, readying himself to deliver a blow. The hand lets go before he can and its then that Bjorn registers Askeladd’s bemused face over his shoulder.
“Askeladd…What are you doing?”
“Keeping you from falling to your death it seems. Come on.”
Askeladd gestures in the opposite direction Bjorn was heading and reaches for his arm again. Bjorn thinks about pushing him away, telling him he can walk by himself, but he really is very drunk. He doesn’t much fancy dying from a drunken misstep.
He allows Askeladd to put a hand round his back and then wraps his own arm loosely around Askeladd’s shoulders as he leads them deeper into the ransacked village.
As they walk, Bjorn finds himself leaning into Askeladd’s side more than he really needs to. Askeladd’s strong and supports him almost effortlessly, and despite the metal armour and cold weather, he’s surprisingly warm against Bjorn. It’s a rare moment for them to be close like this, and he’s starting to find that he wants to enjoy it for as long as he can.
He doesn’t know if Askeladd notices. He probably does, but if he minds he doesn’t seem inclined to share.
Eventually they make it to a cottage close to the outskirts of the former English village. He can see light spilling from underneath the door as they get closer. Askeladd must’ve already settled down for the night before deciding to look for Bjorn.
Because that’s what Askeladd had been doing. Looking for him.
It was too late for a walk, even for him, and a piss wouldn’t have brought him close enough to where Bjorn had been drinking to just happen upon him. The thought brings with it a feeling like embers being gently blown on. The start of a fire beneath his breast that he quickly tries to smother as Askeladd pushes open the door to the house with his free hand and they stumble in.
Askeladd lets go when they enter, closing the door behind them and despite the hot insides of the house, Bjorn feels a shiver run through him. He stands stupidly in the middle of the room, feeling as lost as a vessel unmoored before Askeladd is back and pushing him none too gently towards the bedding in the corner of the room.
Bjorn does push back at Askeladd for that and nearly sends himself tumbling into the fire pit for his efforts. He finds his footing at the last moment, saving himself from one hell of a nasty burn, but Askeladd’s hands still reach out, quick as lightning, to help steady him.
Askeladd chuckles softly beside him as he rights himself, not yet letting go. “Really, I don’t remember you being this bad of a drunk.”
Bjorn leans a little more into that touch and he can’t help the fondness that creeps into his voice when he retorts. “Shut it Askeladd. It’s been a long night.”
“Aye, whatever you say.” Askeladd gives a mocking sigh as he says it but nothing more. Bjorn knows well enough to consider that a victory when it comes to Askeladd.
The man’s even better with words and mind games than he is with a sword, and Bjorn admires and curses that quality in him in equal measure. As much as it amuses him to watch Askeladd run circles around people, having the same done to him is frustrating at best.
He doesn’t have the head to really appreciate that sort of fight. Particularly not when he’s this drunk and they’re so close Bjorn can hardly think for the feel of Askeladd’s hands on him.
Here and now, in the small space between them, Bjorn feels nothing but want.
It burns in him like a living thing. He wants to know if Askeladd feels it too, this aching wild fire running through his veins, eating up all the good sense Bjorn still holds.
Shadows play over the lines of Askeladds face as the light from the fire pit wavers. His face is more weathered now than when they had first met, age having left its mark on Askeladd over all the long years they had known each other. Bjorn knows that it has not lessened him in any way. That time has only made Askeladd stronger.
Staring down at him, Bjorn can see in those sharp blue eyes quiet amusement, but there’s something else there as well.
Maybe it’s whatever had driven Askeladd from the warmth of this cottage out into the cold to look for him.
Maybe it’s a fire in his chest, burning in Askeladd like it burns in Bjorn.
He hopes so, as he leans down into Askeladd’s space and kisses him.