milliways_bar | (no subject)

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Sinric sits on the balcony of the bar, a fur coat pulled tight around himself against the cold. The snow is falling thicker and faster now, lacing the trees and the gardens in white.

He sings softly to himself, hands hidden in his sleeves.

Those with a gift for magic might notice a soft net of gold glowing under the skin of his pale cheeks. Even to those without such sight, he looks better than he was, more colour in his cheeks and his eyes look less hollow.

Company would be very welcome.

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"May I stay with you tonight?" He whispers into Ragnar's neck. "I don't want to be without you."

"Yes," Ragnar says. "You are always welcome with me."

Even if they will be achingly missing Athelstan. They had been together without him before, often, but not while they knew that he was in such a bad way.

Sinric nods, and tightens his arms around Ragnar. "I know. I just... I'm less sure about myself than I have been for a long time."

"After you wandered down the webs of destiny?" Ragnar asks.

He nods. "Yes. And since I have become a seiðmaðr. Who I am has changed, I still don't understand it completely."

"I don't think anybody ever completely understands themselves," Ragnar says.

He sniffs quietly and nods, his face still pressed into Ragnar's neck. "I'm afraid. I'm afraid if I don't learn to master these gifts I may hurt someone. It's you and Athelstan I fear most for. I could not bear to bring either of you more harm."

"But you never brought either of us any harm to begin with," Ragnar argues.

Sinric doesn't answer but clings a little. Just as Ragnar wonders, Sinric too wonders if he is to blame for Athelstan's pain. Had he not brought them together, things would have been very different. Not happier perhaps, but they would not be suffering as they now are.

Ragnar dips his head to kiss Sinric's cheek, tasting tears on his lips.

Sinric turns to kiss back. A little urgently, a little desperately, craving contact and the sureness of Ragnar's love.

Ragnar sighs deeply, and kisses him fully on the lips, adding some fire to the comfort.

Sinric finds himself moaning into the kiss just a little, letting it wash over. He doubts so much of late, it is good not to doubt that he is still desirable. And more than than, still loved.

He shudders slightly under his coat of fur, feeling himself warm.

Ragnar pushes one of his big, callused hands up into Sinric's hair from the nape of his neck.

Sinric's soft moan deepens, growing breathless. "We should- oh, go up. Before-" before they break any Bar rules.

"We catch on fire where anybody may see us?"

Sinric can't help but laugh a little at that. "Just so. The magics of sex the Völva teach are strange and sometimes powerful but... they are not pleasure. And little suit someone like me. It seem a very long time since what I share with another had meaning to it." Or love.

"The meaning will always be there, with you and me," Ragnar murmurs.

Just as the pain about Athelstan.

"Thank you." Sinric nods, clinging. "I don't mean to add to your troubles."

"You don't," Ragnar says. "Oh no, you really don't!"

Sinric clings a moment, tears forming again and hating his own helplessness. "I need you! I need you to keep me from forgetting myself."

"You have me," Ragnar says. "You have me right here."

Athelstan is still missing, though -- for Sinric as much as himself.

Athelstan is such a large part of themselves, a wound neither of them can heal. Sinric buries his face in Ragnar's shirt, trying to overwhelm his senses with the reality of Ragnar, his scents and warmth and realness.