Ivar was still unaware just of what the relationship was between his boyfriend and the man he may or may not have been forming a crush on. It wasn’t just that Francis was easy on the eyes. No, he happened to see Ivar the way he wished everyone would see him: as someone dangerous and a little crazy, but who also happened to have a heart underneath all that fury.

What was a poor Viking warrior to do? Ah well, nothing really to do until things inevitably blew up as they were warranted.

When Francis comes in, Ivar’s just gotten out of the bathtub. It’s never a bad time to approach him, given he’s in less pain from the warm water and therefore less grumpy or homicidal than he would be otherwise. He’s got a pair of pants on as he lies on his bed but no shirt, showing off the tattoos he has covering his chest on full display, with some water droplets still being flicked out of his long hair. Honestly, Ivar was like most Norsemen in that he’d walk around naked if he didn’t live in the freezing Northlands of Europe and the fact he was so self-conscious about his legs.

He brightens up quite a bit when he sees who has walked through the door. “Francis!” He sits up a little bit straighter. “What are you doing here?” He just has to be here to see Ivar, right? He’d be quite put out if he wasn’t.