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The sound of steady dripping woke Athelstan early. Though the air was still bitterly cold, it had warmed enough that the deep drifts of snow were beginning to melt from the pitched roofs of Kattegat, creating icicles that froze overnight and then began to sweat as the sun crept over the horizon, the drips percussing the objects and ground outside in a deep, almost musical rhythm.
He yawned and shifted, and as his eyes fluttered open, a hint of dawn and last night's embers lit his room enough that he could see he wasn't alone.
"Hullo, love," he murmured as the figure approached the bed.
"Did I wake you?" Ragnar said, a note of concern in his voice. "I was hoping I could get in without doing so."
Athelstan shook his head. "No. I was waking on my own. You didn't bother me. You never do." He chuckled softly. "Well, unless you intend to." He moved over slightly and lifted the covers.
Ragnar dropped the fur wrap from his shoulders and kicked off his shoes, and then quickly slid in. Athelstan shivered at the rush of coldness. "Sorry!" Ragnar said, dropping a kiss on his cheek. "I should warm up soon, I hope."
Athelstan smiled. "It doesn't matter. I'm always warm enough when you're near." He nestled into Ragnar's open arms, finding a comfortable place with his head on Ragnar's chest, over his thumping heart. The feeling was glorious, but a hint of guilt prodded at his mind. "How are the children? Still asleep?"
Ragnar made a tired noise. "Ivar had a feeding a short while ago. He and Aslaug are both asleep again. The others are still well out, though Sigurd will probably be waking soon—the dawn always opens his eyes." He shrugged slightly. "If Aslaug needs help with them, she can wake Siggy. I needed to be with you."
Athelstan felt his jaw tighten. Though Aslaug had always been gracious with him, and was grateful for his recent help with the children, she'd also seemed especially aloof with him in recent weeks. Her husband had been leaving their bedchamber most nights to instead crawl into his lover's bed, as he had this morning, and it was becoming obvious that her tolerance for this was growing thin. Much as Athelstan's conscience—and his genuine care for her well-being—made him wary, however, he couldn't deny that he enjoyed the more-frequent company. After nearly a year of being apart and a bloody, awful battle and transfer of power, the quiet comfort of Ragnar's warm, rough hands on his scarred skin was becoming to him as necessary as food and drink.
Too, the luxury of Ragnar's touch came with a sense of protection. In his time back in Kattegat—back in the place that he could most easily call home—it had become apparent that not everyone was as happy to see him return as the king's family and closest company. Torstein was still as friendly as ever, albeit somewhat distracted by a pair of women that wanted to lay claim to him, but few others seemed to be truly glad to have him around again. Only Lagertha had been genuinely welcoming, but she had returned to her duties in Hedeby, and he missed her companionship and the easy way she deflected any hostile stares or words others aimed at him. Ragnar of course did this readily, but he didn't have nearly the time to do so as often as Athelstan felt the need. So these late nights and early mornings in the safety of his arms were important for that reason, too.
For now, however, he was still drowsy in this early hour, as was Ragnar, so for a time, he simply dozed, thoughts about the coming spring and some less-pleasant things drifting through his mind. All too soon, his body reminded him that there were other necessities. He whimpered in frustration, and moved out of Ragnar's embrace.
"Hm?" Ragnar's eyes flipped open.
"I need to . . ." Athelstan scooted out of the bed, aiming for the chamber pot nearby.
"Oh. Come back soon. My arms miss you already."
"Just your arms?" Athelstan glanced over his shoulder and flashed a sly grin as he untied his breeches.
"Arms. Legs. Toes. Tongue. That little space behind my ears you like to kiss."
Athelstan shivered, and tried to change his train of thought so the business he was doing wouldn't be made awkward. He finished quickly, and then rushed back under the furs and blankets. Ragnar's body was already primed for him by the time he returned. "Seems this missed me, too," he said, as he slid a hand between them.
"Always," Ragnar murmured into his mouth.
Their lovemaking was often passionate and rough, but in the stillness of this crisp dawn, with half-lidded eyes and minds still prone to waking dreams, their fire was more of a smolder than a blaze. The slow, gentle caresses made things last longer than they usually did, and when their peaks eventually came, they, too were drawn-out, and all the more satisfying for it.
Both wanted to return to sleep when they were done, but a piercing, telltale cry from the rooms next door made such blissful lethargy impossible.
"We should get up," Athelstan said, his sense of responsibility now coming forward in the ebb of other needs.
His lover grumbled. "We should." He lay there, unmoving even so, and then Athelstan felt him tremble.
Athelstan propped up on an elbow. "What's wrong?" He looked over. It was hard to tell in the low light, but he thought he saw a glittering trail leading down from Ragnar's eyes.
Ragnar brushed at his face. "Don't worry about it."
Athelstan raised an eyebrow. "Has telling me that ever worked?"
Ragnar chuckled. "Point taken." He sighed, and tugged thoughtfully at his beard. "I only wish . . ."
"What?"
"That I could wake up next to you every morning, and hold you in my arms as I fall asleep every night." Ragnar smiled sadly.
Athelstan knew he needn't voice his agreement. He also knew he didn't need to voice the reasons why doing so, much as they both wanted it, was impossible. He leaned down and cupped Ragnar's damp cheek, hoping that, as they had done before, his lips could say more than words.