ragnarsson | The Sphere Inbox

[There's a snort there that's one-part derision and one-part a cover up so that Dodger doesn't see him laughing. So now it comes out, what he'd done to start this whole clusterfuck in the first place. He traces some of Dodger's tattoos and old scars with his fingertips.]

Ah. Well, there's not much you can do about that. It's not like you can just tell someone you're sorry for something like that.

Usually can. [He takes a deep breath that ends in a long sigh, and occupies himself by fidgeting with the border of Ivar's shirt.] My uh... steady, we go way back. Six months or so. Jason's his name. We were fucking around when he got here and I- I don't know. I had a moment. Tried to burn his cock off, I don't know why. He was in tears and he was bleeding and I- just tossed him out, I didn't-

[He takes another breath.]

Just needed... something to take it out on and I could track down Greyjoy, so... so I did. And now...

[He just grimaces. Ivar can figure out the rest, and he doesn't want to talk about it anymore. His hands are wandering under Ivar's shirt now, as if that's going to save him from confronting his actions.]

You're a-- nngh-- [He groans as Dodger's fingers roam over his stomach and chest.] --a fucking mess, you know that? It's like you try to make the worst possible decisions and then see if anything will change for the better.

[Still, it's hard to chide Dodger when he's sitting in his lap and is this close to him. Ivar's getting a bit distracted.]

[He doesn't respond, but the sullen expression on his face really says it all. There's nothing to defend when Ivar is speaking nothing but the truth.

Instead he leans up to press a kiss to Ivar's lips, desperate in a way that Dodger always tries very hard not to be. He tugs at Ivar's shirt, silently demanding for him to take it off.]

[He supposes that's one way to avoid a discussion as Dodger kisses him. Well, Ivar's in no mood to argue. If this is what Dodger wants, he's glad to oblige, but it'll be done in his own way. He pulls his shirt off, though the teen shows no inclination to take off his pants, the usual anxiety about the way his legs look rising up.

Instead, he slips one hand around the back of Dodger's neck, while the other one starts pulling off the other man's own shirt.]

[Dodger isn't wearing his hoodie, so it's a little quicker to get his shirt off. He dislodges Ivar's hand just long enough to whip the shirt off before dragging him closer, biting at his lower lip and running his fingers freely over the Viking's chest.

One of his hands wanders down Ivar's back and suddenly grips him, keeping him in place as Dodger sits up and pins him down to the floor. It places Dodger neatly between Ivar's legs and his breath picks up with excitement, moving his hands down to Ivar's hips to grind against him harshly.]

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