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nothingtolosebutweight · 10 months

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A little (fast-written and not thoroughly proofread) something for the Summer Solstice Event hosted by @vikingsevents. I combined day 4 (Sweet, Salty, Metallic) and day 5 (Moan, Whimper, Scream) and created a Vampire AU (doesn't every writer need one at some point xd and JRMs role as Dracula gave me the perfect pic). I'm a little late, but I'm here :) Pairing: Heahmund & Ivar Words: ~4000 [AO3] Warnings: Mention of Blood (what a surprise), M/M Blowjob, Mild Smut

If his heart would still be beating in his chest, he was sure it would have stopped the moment he finally put his lips on the soft pillows he had painfully longed for weeks. Or rather, for centuries. It felt like a gentle death, and in a way, he actually died the second their lips touched, uniting in a kiss.

In an instant, he felt as if he had been reborn. His old self ceased to exist. The suffering self, driven by pain. All the pain of the past centuries, all the suffering that had accumulated during that time, slipped away from him, peeled off like a skin that no longer belonged to him, making way for the hope of a future in which love and passion would once again become his driving forces.

Caught in the maelstrom of his sensations, he gave himself completely to the feeling that the lips, which at first only hesitantly pressed against his, triggered in him. He would have loved to take possession of them directly, to feast on them like a wild animal that had had to wait too long for new prey. He was hungry, wanted more, but he held back. He mustered all his willpower to do so. Even though it was difficult for him, he instinctively knew that he had to give his counterpart the time to slowly get used to the feeling he was most likely experiencing. It was probably unfamiliar to him and overwhelming at the same time. Not the kiss alone, but the wave of emotions it unleashed. He was sure that he wasn't the only one feeling this way, but that the boy in front of him was also stirred up inside. He felt the uncertainty and probably also the disbelief about what was happening in his tentative approaches, heard it in his fastened heartbeat and shaky breaths.

Sweet - was the prevailing thought that burst upon him, unannounced like a storm on the high seas, as soon as their lips parted a crack, clearing the way into a world full of new sensations. He felt as if there was a slight hint of caramel, or perhaps honey, on these soft pillows, which further enraptured him. He wanted to devour every last trace of this delicious taste, chased after it like an addict after his favorite drug.

A smile formed on his lips, and had he not disturbed the kiss with it, he would have shaken his head in disbelief at his own surprise at the beguiling taste. Of course, his sweet prince still tasted like the sweetest temptation he had ever tasted. He hadn't gotten that nickname for nothing. Back then, a very long time ago.

He caught himself thinking that he could do without blood for the rest of his life if only he could sip on those very lips every waking minute. They were the elixir he needed more to live, the loss of which had made him an empty shell.

A stupid thought, perhaps, but he was far from being wise. Not when he was close to the one person he love the most and which he had believed he had lost forever.

The fact that he was here, unarmed, and without even having thoroughly checked his surroundings beforehand, was already proof enough that he might not be in his right mind.

The boy, who so willingly allowed himself to fall into his arms, was Ivar - the youngest scion of the Lothbrok family, whose roots as famous hunters went back a long way. Hunters who had tried for several generations to banish him and his kind from this earth, yet they had never been successful. At least in his case. Many of his kind had fallen victim to them, which had only magnified his anger and hatred toward those people, and perhaps it was now up to him to fall into the easiest of all traps that would cost him his survival.

He was walking on dangerous ground, but this kiss alone was already worth the risk. With not a fiber of his being could he imagine that the Lothbroks knew what old soul was slumbering in this boy when not even Ivar himself seemed to comprehend why he too was drawn to him as well. Ivar could have killed him already. He had several opportunities to do so, since he was too careless when near him, but Ivar hadn't done it, instead, the boy surrendered to the kiss as well, letting himself be guided by something hidden deep inside him.

Gently he let the tip of his tongue trace this sweetness and silently begged for further entry into this paradise-like cave.

He had fought many battles in his life already, had brought down many enemies who were begging for their lives on the brink of death. During those times, he also faced many weapons that were specially created to cause him pain and the most suffering before his ending. But never before had he felt anything like fear or a sense of weakness. Never had he felt defeated or unable to fight against something life-threatening.

However, the soft moan that escaped Ivar's lips when he opened his mouth a little wider, which led him to take possession of it immediately, made him feel a sense of weakness for the first time. He felt weak to the bone, on the verge of crying because he couldn’t believe his luck.

Ivar could stab him right in his cold heart, he wouldn't mind right now, but apparently, his luck hadn't run out yet. No wooden peg dug deep into his chest, but a shy tongue invaded him now, began to circle his, and nestled against it. Another moan sounded. This time from his mouth, and he could feel how it was working its magic on Ivar as well. He could hear his heartbeat increasing, could feel the tremors dancing across his skin.

His sweet prince pressed himself closer against him, wrapping his arms around his waist. Seeking hold, he was more than willing to give it to him.

Of the many battles he had already fought, none was as difficult as this one he was now fighting with himself internally.

Triggered by the sweetness that had overpoweringly anchored itself in his senses, he was overcome by the urge to want to possess Ivar, with every last molecule that made up his existence. He wanted to have him all for himself in fear of losing him again.

It was easy to say that continuing life without him would be unthinkable for him. Exaggerated poetics for most, but he knew that these were not just empty words. He had already had to live through it, knew how bleak his existence had been for the last centuries.

He had already lost him once. About 300 years before. Hunters had ripped him away from him in a brutal way. They had used Ivar as bait to lure him out of hiding, driven by the painful screams of his beloved. Pain caused by consecrated silver arrows that had been drilled into his legs in various places.

At that time, he had not been able to free him and thus had not been able to save him. In the end, he had only been able to watch in horror from a distance as they had beheaded his most loved one. Thus destroying a love that had lasted over 200 years. His existence thereafter was marked by hatred. His drive was revenge against all those who had been involved in this cruel event. Including their descendants. No one should be allowed to walk the earth who carried the blood of those people who had taken the dearest from him.

The dark time seemed to be over now. Although darkness was still his accomplice, needed for protection, it no longer ate through his insides.

Ivar was back. Even if so far only as a shell, he was sure that also his consciousness, his soul would soon push back to the surface. He was as sure of this as he had been at their first brief eye contact that this young man was his Ivar.

- His eyes, those azure depths, had been the first thing that had given him away. Back then, a few weeks ago, when they had run into each other in the twilight. A brief crossing of their eyes had been enough and he had lost himself in those familiar eyes. Had lost all sense of time, overwhelmed by all the memories that had burst upon him at that moment. They both had stopped for a moment as if they had been forced to stand still by some supernatural force and just looked at each other in silence.

That brief moment had been enough to trigger a realization in him, and when his senses had returned and with them, Ivar's heartbeat had reached him, he had been absolutely certain. Many people were nothing special. They were lost in the steady rhythm of the faceless mass, but there was something special about his sweet prince. A striking unevenness that sounded to his ears like the most beautiful classical song, whose tonal perfection no one had yet put on paper. He would recognize his heartbeat among millions and millions, had never heard a comparable one since he was robbed of his beloved.

Only briefly had he been able to catch a glimpse of Ivar's legs, trapped in metal braces, before the young man had awakened from his stupor and continued on his way, turning around again a short time later and eyeing him once more with interest.

The sight of the maltreated legs had triggered sheer rage in him and only with difficulty had he been able to suppress the scream that had been brewing inside him. Just like the memories that rose along with it, at the same time. -

Flatly, he pressed his tongue against the warm skin on Ivar's neck, licking over it with relish. The throbbing of his heartbeat made itself felt as a gentle vibration on his tongue. He heard the rush of blood flowing through the human shell and the thought of wanting to taste it overwhelmed him. Greed took over. When already on the outside such a foretaste of the sweetest nectar was waiting for him, how delicious would Ivar's blood be then?

His grip around Ivar's waist tightened, his nails deformed into claws almost leaving small holes in the fabric. His sharp teeth grew, scratched over the sensitive skin while he alternated between licking it and covering it with kisses. He was seconds away from plunging his teeth into the thick vein, ready to satisfy his curiosity and hunger, but the tip of a sharp object pressing into his side, right below his rotten heart, made him pause.

Carefully, he licked over the tempting spot once more before lifting his head and looking Ivar in the eye.

Already as he moved away, the pressure at his side also eased, even though the sharp end still lingered menacingly close to his body. Nevertheless, he was not afraid. He could read in Ivar's eyes that he had no intention of driving the peg deeper. It was merely a warning. The marking of a border that should not be crossed.

Devoutly, as if it weren't only Ivar's legs that seemed fragile, he enclosed his face with both hands and examined it for a moment, putting all the love he had for him into his gaze.

"I promise that I won't harm you. More than that, I promise that no one will ever hurt you again. No one will ever lay a hand on you again and cause you pain. From now on, I will protect you. No matter what it costs."

He saw Ivar frown as he let the words sink in. They didn't seem to make any sense to him. How could they, if he didn't remember?

"I don't need protection. I can stand up for myself."

The same pride as before gleamed in Ivar's eyes. The same confidence that almost bordered on arrogance, which had fascinated him even way back then. He smiled at him and nodded in understanding.

"I know. And yet I will protect you. I am your loyal servant and anyone who harms even a hair on your head will die. Like all the others before. That is my promise to you." He kept his voice soft, almost a whisper, even when no one was around to overhear.

"No one has ever hurt me."

"Your legs tell a different story."

He watched Ivar as he looked down at himself for a moment as if he had to see once again what had been done to him. Something so terrible that even centuries later it was still manifest in his body.

"I was born this way. It's nobody's fault, it's just the genes." Ivar sounded puzzled. Partly unsure maybe if this was actually the reason.

He stroked over the soft skin on Ivar's cheek, felt the first stronger hairs forming on his jawline under his fingertips. He left it at that. It was obvious that Ivar didn't remember the details and that he was struggling with himself inside. He could see it in his inquiring gaze, could almost hear the questions that Ivar was surely asking himself inwardly, undecided about what he was actually doing here. But his interest seemed to be stronger, his desire for closeness far from satisfied.

By initiating the following kiss, Ivar also made a statement that he was not here to talk. While he had been shy and cautious before, he now took what he thirsted for more confidently. Willingly, he opened his mouth, welcoming the foreign tongue into his realm.

He could feel the warmth of Ivar's breath mingling with his own cold one, creating an electrifying current that surged through their bodies. The touch of his lips was soft, yet firm, their movements synchronized in a passionate dance. Their tongues and lips met with a hunger that bordered on desperation. Breathy moans and sighs that echoed in the air were like a symphony, created by their desire and need, a testimony to the intensity of their connection.

Once again the heartbeat of his once-lost love accelerated, his skin became warmer, exuding a pleasant fragrance that crept into his nose, taking hold of his whole being. Everything around him was once again forgotten, declared unimportant. His world was Ivar and Ivar alone and he took this place as self-confident as ever.

His hands roamed over Ivar's back, possessively, yet tenderly tracing patterns along his spine, further igniting the fire that burned within them. Ivar's fingers clawed into his hair, pulling him closer, deepening their kiss even more. They only separated to get rid of each other's shirts. In a hurry, they tore them off their bodies and threw them carelessly on the floor, where also the wooden peg had found its resting place in the meantime.

The air crackled around them and fire blazed in their eyes as they looked at each other breathlessly for a moment. Their bodies yearned for more, their hands could not leave each other, slid exploratively over naked skin. Once again their lips found each other, sealing their testament of passion anew.

He started to open Ivar's pants, slid his hands in the sides, wandered to his butt, and dug his fingers into the plump cheeks, kneading them while he pressed Ivar closer, letting their hips gyrate against each other. Another moan was breathed into his mouth, unleashing another storm of desire to unfold. Without effort, he lifted Ivar up and helped him wrap his legs around his waist before walking to the bed on the other side of the room, continuing to kiss as if Ivar didn't need oxygen either.

When he reached the bed, he bent down and let Ivar slide gently onto the mattress. He propped himself up with his hands, and bedded himself on top of him, gyrating his hips again. Their moans mingled and Ivar leaned his head back to catch his breath, thus invitingly presenting his seductive neck to him. Without hesitation, he let his lips slide back there, kissing his way over the throbbing vein. He didn't linger there long, feeling how Ivar was tensing up again. Purposefully, he slid to his collarbone, licking his way down to one erect bud, nibbling on it, causing Ivar to voice his delight.

The scent that emanated from Ivar wrapped him in an invisible cloak. It had changed in the last few minutes, had intensified, and he felt like he was lying on the softest pillows, carried by the warmth that poured out of him.

The hands that ran through his hair, clawing almost painfully tightly into it, unmistakably pushed him deeper. He let Ivar guide him, but still took the time to explore his upper body first with tongue and lips, spoiling kisses here and there.

A tremor ran through Ivar's body and a sound of relief escaped his mouth as he opened his pants further and hastily pulled them down to his knees along with his underwear, freeing that part of his body that craved attention the most.

Desirously he looked at the wet shimmering tip, which stretched towards him. The witness of Ivar's lust was emblazoned on it, arousing in him the need to taste it. Turning his head sideways, he licked the hot flesh with the flat of his tongue, saving the best for last, when he finally absorbed the drop with the tip of his tongue, letting the salty taste melt on his tongue.

Ivar whimpered as his lips closed around the tip, begging for more with the next gasping exhale. He was only too happy to comply with this request, given that his own hunger for more was far from being satisfied. Nibbling, he let his lips glide over the head, savoring each new drop of pleasure as it rose to the surface. He relished the deep sighs that were coming from Ivar's mouth, bathed in the knowledge that it was he who was giving him this pleasure, these moments of absolute bliss.

Once again he licked over the entire length, noticing the trembling that flowed through Ivar's fragile legs, before he opened his mouth and placed it around the tip, this time taking it deep inside him. Immediately the grip on his hair tightened, urging his head deeper.

Sucking blood was a necessity for him to stay alive.

Sucking Ivar's cock was like a revelation that made him feel alive again.

The pulsing that spread through his mouth made him feel like he had a heartbeat of his own. He took Ivar deeper inside him, letting the sensation penetrate further down his throat. The sounds emanating from Ivar became more and more indignant, his hips reared up, his movements became desperate. He tried to follow the rhythm, willingly letting himself be used for Ivar's own pleasure, not letting the roughness deter him. He let it happen, enjoying the satisfaction he could give Ivar with a little sucking and bobbing his head up and down. He hadn't felt this fulfilled in a long time.

And something else distracted him, making his thoughts wander off.

The buzz of Ivar's blood sounded loudly in his ears. Two thick veins on his lower abdomen sought his attention. They stood out clearly. He saw them pulsing, and he could almost see through the skin how the surely delicious blood was pumped into Ivar's lower body at a hurried pace. His hunger for it grew with every second. A growl came deep from his throat as the urge finally overcame him, bouncing as a vibration against Ivar's cock, eliciting an equally guttural moan from his sweet prince.

He freed himself from Ivar's hard grip, sucked the tip of the shaft again intensely, and then let the cock slide out of his mouth completely. His tongue slid one last time over the length, made its way to the thigh on which he breathed fleeting kisses. Kissing and licking, he approached the lower belly, took Ivar's cock in his hand in the meantime, and continued pumping it in the same rhythm as he had previously spoiled it with his mouth. He increased the pressure around the head, sliding his thumb over the wet tip, rubbing the juice of their lust into both their skins.

Licking his lips, he came closer to one of the pulsating veins, firstly, just pressing his tongue against its pulse, letting it pass over him. He felt how the greed turned his features animalistic and how his teeth extended. It took all his strength, but he raised his head briefly to take a look at Ivar. A smile flitted across his features as he once more realized how gorgeous he was. His beloved had his eyes closed, his features tense with pleasure, his lips slightly open, breathing heavily. His fingers clutched at the sheet to his left and right, and his hips continued to thrust toward his hand, demanding.

He is mine was the prevailing thought as he lowered his head again. Forgotten was the previously made promise.

A scream fought its way through Ivar's lips, triggered by the shock when he couldn't hold on any longer, sinking his teeth into the soft skin of Ivar's lower abdomen. The metallic taste of his blood immediately filled his mouth, increasingly befogging his senses. Greedily he sucked the juice of life into himself, was overwhelmed by its delicious taste which he now well remembered.

Ivar reared up briefly, trying to push him away, but his resistance was only half-hearted, disarmed by his hand still pumping Ivar's arousal in a steady rhythm. He continued to drink, feeling the twitching in his hand grow stronger until he heard Ivar moan loudly. The feeling of warm drops landing on his cheek caught his attention and out of the corner of his eye he saw how Ivar slumped limply back onto the mattress, trying to catch his breath.

Weak hands tried to push him away once again, but he hadn't had enough, kept sucking the delicious blood into his mouth, intoxicated.

"Heahmund, please don't."

The soft, almost brittle voice of Ivar reached his ears and with a jolt he came to, jerked his head up and pressed his palm on the small wounds to stop the bleeding, but also to avoid being overrun by lust and hunger again.

He hadn't heard that name for a long time, had never used it again after his biggest defeat so far. The memory that came with it was too painful.

They looked at each other. Silently, yet he read so much in Ivar's eyes. Realization shimmered in them, accompanied by tears that tried to flood out. With the back of his hand, he first wiped his mouth, removing the bloody residue from his lips, before leaning down to Ivar, stopping just before his lips. With his thumb, he collected a tear that had made its way out of the corner of Ivar's eye as a glittering pearl.

"My sweet prince," he whispered before sealing their lips again, encouraged by the hand that had settled on his neck, pressing him closer.

The taste of his own blood didn't seem to deter Ivar. Much more it spurred him on, made him become more impetuous again. It was going to be a long night. Of that he was sure. A night in which he would hear his old name even more often, breathed and moaned and accompanied by sweet sounds.

It was time for a new identity anyway and Heahmund knew exactly which one he wanted to revive.

#heavar #heahmund x ivar #ivar x heahmund #ivar the boneless #vikings #vikings fanfic #vikings fanfiction #bishop heahmund #ivar vikings #summer solstice #smuttyvikings #vikingsevents #my writing #my stuff

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nothingtolosebutweight · 1 year

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Title: Final Masquerade Pairing: Ivar x Heahmund (Modern AU) Other Characters: Mention of Bjorn, Ubbe and Hvitserk - Sigurd got one or two sentences as well :D Words: ~8100 [AO3] Warnings: Insults, Bad opinions about gays, Swearing, Heartbreak, Angst, Hurt Summary: After the death of Sigurd, Ivar had only one task. To approach the investigating cop, get information about the state of the investigation, and distract him. He always did his job well, was proud of that too, but this time he had done one part too well. He had gotten too close to the cop named Heahmund, infecting himself with something he didn't know how to deal with along the way, which was slowly destroying his self from the inside out.

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He felt sick.

Not only since today and also not only since yesterday. The feeling that something was wrong with him had been tormenting Ivar for quite a while now. It wasn't just a runny nose or a scratchy throat. With such things, he could have easily coped. No, it was much worse than that. Much more fatal. This particular disease ate its way torturously slowly through his insides and, judging by recent events, began to affect his entire existence and sense of self as well.

Since his early childhood, Ivar knew what it felt like to be sick. Ever since he was able to consciously perceive the world around him and put it into perspective for himself, it was clear to him that his body was different. Weak and sickly, not as resilient as the bodies of his healthy brothers.

However, this newly appeared disease was worse for him, harder to bear than his constantly aching legs. At least that's how it seemed to Ivar, because, unlike the impairment of his lower body, which he now considered normal, he was not used to it. Pain was his constant companion, and to many, it might seem strange, but he would prefer even worse pain over his current condition any day. What people might forget was that he had painkillers for his legs. He could take them and within a few minutes, the aching would become more bearable. He could also wrap himself in warm blankets or rub some herbal oil into his scarred skin there. Over the years, he had picked up a few tricks to make his life more comfortable, but with his recent problems, Ivar wasn't sure if there was any cure at all.

Everything had started about a year ago when he had been asked to do what he initially thought would be a simple job for the so-called family business. The contagion went unnoticed and insidiously until it had infected his entire body. Step by step. The more he became aware of it, the more it freaked Ivar out. There was nothing he had experienced so far that could explain these silly symptoms.

It had started with an accelerated heartbeat, which led to sweaty palms and a feeling of fever that kept creeping across his cheeks at the most inappropriate moments. His stomach reacted in the strangest way as well. It felt as if he had eaten a battery that still emitted electrical impulses from time to time. Even his lips were affected. They twisted into a smile more often than he would have liked, and he had also caught himself chuckling inanely, although what had been said had not even been funny. It had simply overtaken him, without his consent.

His once so clever and rational mind was also infected, if not to the highest degree. It felt as if maggots had taken up residence in his brain and were now cheerfully eating away his intelligence. This led to him catching himself saying stupid things or thinking of even stupider things almost every day. In the past, he had been able to concentrate on his work for several hours without any problems and had developed clever and, above all, successful strategies with which he had made a name for himself in the family business. But those days seemed to be over, because concentration was no longer so easy to achieve today. Every time Ivar tried to concentrate on his work, his thoughts would wander. They always revolved around the same topic, which really shouldn't be as important to him as it had become over the last months.

His relationship with his brothers was also marred due to constant quarrels and heated discussions about how he should handle the matter. But what did they know? After all, they didn't feel what he felt. They didn't know what it felt like for him, who had always been so level-headed and determined before, to feel so lost and helpless. Torn in a way. Being at the mercy of something intangible was tugging at the image he had of himself and, above all, wanted to maintain. He was no victim, no one to be ordered around, only he found it increasingly difficult to remain true to this image.

Everything just sucked - and not in the way he liked it.

Some time back, he had seen a documentary about a parasite that had made itself at home in the brain of its host and had taken over all its movements. The poor creature was doomed to spend the rest of his life as an empty shell, no longer in control of his body. It had become like a zombie and that's exactly how his situation felt to Ivar at times.

He was controlled from the outside, like a puppet hanging by strings or a moth magically attracted to the light without being able to do anything about it. The light source was its holy grail and so often its doom at the same time.

It was the same in his case.

His light, around which he thoughtlessly circled, went by the name of Heahmund. Heahmund van Sherborne to be more precise. He was both his holy grail and downfall.

Heahmund was the trigger of his symptoms, which his brothers had already quite quickly categorized under the non-medically versed diagnosis - love.

For a long time, Ivar had vehemently resisted this insinuation and had repeatedly emphasized how ridiculous this claim was. Every time his brothers started talking about it, he had become angrier at how they could accuse him of such a dumb thing. They should know him better. He was convinced he was not able to love, nor did he strive to do so. He used people for his own benefit, made them dance according to his will. That's how things worked out for him, and with Heahmund it shouldn't have been any different, since the cop was only supposed to provide useful information.

Back then, after Sigurd's sudden death, things in the family business had been a bit out of joint. The police, who usually never came too close to them, were suddenly investigating, asking too many unpleasant questions. Heahmund, one of the lead investigators at the time, had been particularly nice when he had questioned him - simply as a family member of the person who had died in such tragic circumstances. In the process, it had been impossible to overlook the fact that he had triggered a weak spot in the cop.

So, out of pure calculation, Ivar had crept into Heahmund's life. More and more often, he had visited him in his office for trivial matters, perfecting his role as a grieving brother who needed some comfort, a shoulder to lean on, and some distraction in the process.

He and his brothers always had to be one step ahead of the game. It wasn't just a saying that it was best to be close to your enemies. It worked in reality, too. Perhaps too well in his case.

That Heahmund would fall in love with him had never been the intention. Ivar never made plans that played on emotions. They were too uncertain as a basis and he knew too little about them himself - back then at least. Now he knew too much, carried too many of them around with him.

Ivar found little comfort in the fact that he had done his job too well. The grieving younger brother, searching for justice and a sense of purpose in all the tragedy was certainly one of his best acting performances so far. Little did Heahmund know that Ivar did not care at all about Sigurd's death. It was only important to him that the background that had led to his brother's demise remained hidden. Therefore, of course, he had taken advantage of Heahmund's blinded heart. The man, who was a little more than 10 years older, had voluntarily given it into his hands. Who wouldn't have used such a great foundation to his own advantage?

Of course, it hadn't been easy to play along at first as their interactions became more intimate. It had definitely been a challenge to appear sweet and in love when he was around Heahmund. After all, he had no experience with love and how people should behave when they are in that silly state. In addition, it had cost him quite a bit to overcome the first tender advances, to allow closeness and still smile and not murder. But apparently, he had done his job well, or Heahmund had just really bad taste in partners. Whatever had caused his triumph, he had managed to keep up the facade, and one day the facade had unexpectedly transformed into reality.

Now Ivar felt like he was living in a fever dream from which he hasn't woken up yet.

That he would make a fool out of himself and also fall in love had surely also not been on his agenda. He certainly couldn't have foreseen it, and even if someone had prophesied it to him, Ivar wouldn't have believed them. It would have seemed too absurd to him, and yet it had happened. He had fallen head over heels in love with the handsome cop and it was the worst and best feeling at the same time.

It was also a feeling he tried to hide from everyone except Heahmund, as he was already struggling to admit it to himself. To acknowledge it in front of others, to admit his failure - in his eyes - he was still miles away from that.

On weekends, and actually most other nights, he now preferred to stay at Heahmund's house on the outskirts of town. It was quiet there and the view was fantastic as well. His rational mind would like to consider these points as decisive, but of course, he preferred to spend his time at this place because Heahmund himself was present there. If not in person, then at least in all sorts of details that made his home his home. Ivar felt comfortable there, almost like at home.

In the moments when Heahmund trusted him enough to leave him alone in his house - sometimes getting them something to eat or having to leave urgently due to a job-related emergency - Ivar at least managed to remember his actual plan of looking for information about the Lothbrok case. It had been easy to figure out the password for Heahmund's private laptop. For being a police officer, he didn't necessarily protect his private data very well. Ivar had had more problems with the work laptop, but with the help of Ubbe and Hvitserk, he had been able to hack into it without leaving any traces as well. That's where he had gotten most of his useful information so far.

Toward his brothers, he felt a little better after such deeds, because he could justify his constant absence more easily. After all, he had achieved results by spending time with Heahmund, and he never grew tired of emphasizing that this was thanks to his tactics and sacrifice. Nevertheless, they kept accusing him of self-interest, of being in love with Heahmund, and Ivar also never grew tired of vehemently denying these accusations.

In front of his brothers, he tried to maintain his cool and emotionless facade. Every time he returned to his real home, he tried to pretend that he was glad to finally be back. By now, Ivar had become quite the performer among his brothers. He made a spectacle of taking extensive showers, as if he had to clean himself from all the touches he had suffered. At least that's how he told it, not shying away from making fun of Heahmund and his feelings for him in the process as well.

Every time he exploited Heahmund's trust in this way, and especially when he spoke so badly about him behind his back, his heart ached and he simply felt guilty. It was no longer easy for him to fall asleep right away, because he was probably experiencing what others call a guilty conscience for the first time.

None of what he told his brothers was true.

Of course, he enjoyed being with Heahmund, usually could hardly wait to get back to the outskirts after a short time apart. Just listening to Heahmund talk about the most mundane things had become special to him. It soothed him, made him feel at peace in a certain way. Heahmund gave him a serenity that Ivar hadn't previously known he needed in his life to balance his aggression. This man had such a wonderfully soothing voice and so much knowledge in his handsome head that it was never boring just to sit next to him and listen.

Most of the time, however, it didn't stop there. Heahmund was a person who wanted and needed physical contact. He always made sure that they could somehow feel connected to each other through tender touches. He would either let his fingers dance over his back, massage his legs, hold him in a hug, or just intertwine their fingers together. Heahmund always found a way to be close to him, to kiss and caress him in the most fabulous way.

To this day, Ivar still couldn't bear hugs from other people, his brothers included - even if they were very rare - but in Heahmund's arms, Ivar could spend whole nights, sleeping like a baby without a care in the world. He had no idea what was different about them, what Heahmund did differently, but they just felt so much better. In fact, he didn't want to be without all these sweet little gestures anymore. By now, he also sought the initially hated closeness of his own accord.

The fact that he preferred to spend his time with Heahmund and came home less and less often with something concrete, because he neglected his research, led to increased quarrels with his brothers, especially with his eldest. One particularly heated argument had ended with Bjorn now forever bearing a souvenir in the form of a scar on his forehead - and rightly so.

—---------- AT SOME POINT IN THE PAST —-----------

"Wow, it's rare to see you home, Ivar. I'll tell you again, you're getting too close to the cop. You've become reckless, too soft since you developed feelings for this idiot."

Bjorn had just walked in the door, hadn't even taken off his jacket, and immediately started talking to him without being asked. Probably some frustration had built up during the days of his absence, Ivar thought.

"Welcome home, brother." There was a false sweetness in his voice. Only briefly, Ivar looked up from his laptop and offered Bjorn an equally fake smile. "No, I'm not getting too close to him, because, given the urgency of the matter, I can't be close enough. You know as well as I do that we need to know how far they've gotten with their investigation. I'm not reckless either. I know what I'm doing." It was one thing to admit to himself his feelings for Heahmund. That alone still gave him a twinge of self-loathing. To do it in front of his family, his brothers, and especially Bjorn was out of the question.

"It doesn't look like it," Bjorn answered as he approached the table where Ivar had made himself comfortable in their communal space - something he already started to regret.

"For you, maybe, but you've never really understood strategically elaborate plans either, so I'm not too worried about your concerns." Ivar couldn't help himself. He had to grin cheekily in Bjorn's face; any other reaction would simply not fit his brother's ridiculous accusations.

"Go ahead and tell yourself that, but what I saw looked pretty much like my little brother was all hearty eyes over that bastard. You should be ashamed of yourself." The disgusted expression on Bjorn's face clearly highlighted his opinion about the matter. Thankfully, Ivar didn't have to endure this for long, as Bjorn turned around and went to the fridge to grab himself a glass of some chilled apple juice.

"What are you talking about?" On the outside, Ivar remained cool, pretended to be semi-interested in what Bjorn had to say, even started writing in his open document again. Inwardly, however, his thoughts were racing. He went through all the opportunities within the last week where he had been out with Heahmund. Where could Bjorn have seen them? In the ice cream parlor in the middle of town? Had he watched them on their shopping trip afterward? Or a few days later in the park when they had met for an impromptu picnic? Or maybe he had just seen them out for a walk. In the evenings, they often went for walks together, as long as his legs would allow. As he reviewed everything, it struck Ivar himself how cheesy all these meetings - he refrained from calling them dates - had been. Perhaps he had indeed become a little careless.

"About you disrespecting yourself by kissing him, and that not just once and not just fleetingly. You clung to him like a schoolgirl in love ready to lift her skirt."

The comparison made Ivar's face grimace. For a brief moment, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath to calm himself. He didn't want to give his brother the satisfaction of knowing he had hit a nerve, even though everyone around him knew that an attack on his ego always elicited the best reactions. With a snort, he let the held air escape and looked up, looking right into Bjorn's face, who had now turned around again and was pointing his finger at him.

"Don't even start denying it."

"It's called acting, Bjorn. I pretend that I care for him, otherwise, I couldn't get so close to high-value information. Like the ones, I'm trying to process right now. I really don’t have time for your bullshit."

"As if!" Bjorn positioned himself in front of the table, tapping his index finger vehemently against the tabletop as if this would give his statement more emphasis. "I saw you. You don't need to tell me anything about pretending." Bjorn raised his hands and gestured quotation marks with his index and middle fingers. "It looked zero like you didn't enjoy it."

Ivar laughed with a sneer. "So what? Just because your girlfriends make sad faces around you and act distant and uninvolved when you try to initiate physical contact doesn't mean that other couples can't show a little more affection. Even fake ones. Is this your real issue? You're jealous because my fake love life is better than your real one? If so, that's pathetic, even for you." Turning to insults might not be the best idea, but it was the first one that came to Ivar's mind to get out of the center of the accusations himself.

The tactic proved unsuccessful. Although Bjorn's expression turned to anger and he clenched his fists, he recognized the intent behind Ivar's words.

"Don't change the subject, you little bastard."

Slightly amused by the insult, but still more and more annoyed by the whole situation, Ivar leaned back in his chair, looking defiantly at his brother. "You accuse me that my efforts look too real? Are you serious about that? Well, maybe it's because I'm just really good at pretending. Or how else could you think that I give a damn about your opinion, huh? Because I let you believe that I care what you think, but let me tell you a secret, Bjorn. I don't. Never have, surely never will. So how about you stop stealing my time and instead you find yourself a bunch of old ladies with whom you can talk about feelings, hm?" To make it clear that he really wasn't interested in any further conversation, Ivar grabbed his headphones, but before he could put them on, Bjorn snatched them out of his hands.

"Give them back. Right now!" Ivar was on the verge of losing his already meager patience. Hastily, he tried to grab Bjorn's arm to prevent him from moving the headphones out of his reach, but he hadn't been fast enough. Because of his impaired legs, he couldn't just jump up and get them back himself either. Getting up always took a little longer for him, as he had to proceed carefully so as not to overstrain his legs. It made him angry that Bjorn had to exploit this weakness now, and instead of complying with the expressed request, his brother only chuckled and certainly didn't waste one single thought on finally leaving him alone. Instead, he leaned toward him, sniffing exaggeratedly.

"His stench is all over you, I can smell him from here."

This statement caused Ivar to roll his eyes. "Don't confuse Heahmund's expensive fragrance with the bullshit that's coming out of your mouth. Just shut the fuck up and you'll notice it will stop reeking. And now give me my headphones back!" He tried again, holding out his hand expectantly.

Bjorn demonstratively hung the headphones over the back of the chair next to him, far enough away from Ivar's reach so that he wouldn't be able to grab them from his current position. Satisfied with his little revenge, he grinned, hiding his actually upset state of mind. Bjorn hated that Ivar always managed to turn the tables, but he too knew where his brother's weak spots were.

"You've got a pretty big mouth for someone who's turned into such a pussy lately."

Now Ivar raised his hand and index finger admonishingly. "You'd better watch how you talk to me," he said in a cold voice, making it clear that he'd really had enough.

"Oh yeah, why is that?" Bjorn asked challengingly as he pushed back the chair right next to Ivar's to sit on it.

"Because I'm the one who's doing the most here. I operate far away from my comfort zone to protect all of us. Maybe just show a little gratitude, huh?" Ivar spat out and rolled his eyes in annoyance when Bjorn, instead of finally leaving, made himself comfortable.

"Oh come on. Like your comfort zone isn't between the cop's legs."

Yes, it was, but it was nothing like Bjorn seemed to imagine with his limited brain capacity. Heahmund had become like a safe place for him, and when they watched TV together, Ivar usually sat with his back leaning against Heahmund's chest, snuggled close to him, and in that position, of course, also between his legs. Quite innocently, as almost all their more intimate moments were. More than handjobs hadn't happened so far. Despite all the feelings raging inside him, Ivar wasn't ready for sex yet, Heahmund wasn't pushing him either. It was a subject that was very much on Ivar's mind. He felt that he wanted it, that his body responded to Heahmund, craving for more. After all, he also was just a boy with needs, but his head kept him from initiating more on his own. Sex in itself was already an upsetting subject, sex with another man and one he shouldn't even be attracted to in the first place made it all even more complicated and embarrassing. That's why Ivar felt so grossed out by his brother's new accusation.

There was the fear of losing respect from his brothers if they realized the extent of his feelings or if he confirmed their already existing suspicions one day. Would they despise him? Feel that he was worth less? Ivar assumed so.

"Your mind is so rotten, it’s disgusting," Ivar said, shaking his head in disbelief at what he had to deal with. He still tried to stay calm, to not let his own embarrassment about the whole situation creep to the surface as well as his anger that Bjorn was insulting him in such a way. His ego had definitely been bruised already.

"You are rotten, Ivar, a fucking faggot who claims that letting yourself be fucked in the ass qualifies as information gathering."

Ivar had already had enough ten minutes ago, but this new allusion made his patience thread snap. Quickly enough that Bjorn couldn’t react in time, he jerked upright, grabbed his brother by a tuft of hair on the top of his head and yanked his head down by it. Satisfaction spread through him as he heard the dull sound of a head hitting the tabletop with full force. When he saw fine drops of blood splattering on the surface, Ivar's grin grew even wider. He ignored the pain this sudden movement caused in his legs, his fury was pumping too hard in his veins for that to stop him.

Bjorn groaned in pain and grabbed his forehead to feel the now wet spot.

"Who's the pussy now, huh?" Ivar asked mockingly as he slid his hand to the back of his brother's head and pushed him forward again. All the hurtful things Bjorn had said before were far from settled with a simple laceration. His brother, however, regained his composure faster than Ivar would have liked. He resisted the pressure and instead gave Ivar a hard blow to the chest that drove the air out of his lungs and made him fall backward along with his chair.

Within seconds, Bjorn stood up, staggered briefly, and settled down on his shins next to Ivar. He grabbed his youngest brother by the collar of his shirt, yanked him up and, without hesitation, slapped him across the face with the flat of his hand.

Ivar reacted quickly, clenching his hand into a fist and striking back blindly, sensing only from the pain in his hand that he had landed a blow somewhere.

A fight broke out, which was only interrupted by the arrival of Ubbe and Hvitserk, who had been alerted by the loud noises and shouting of insults. Due to the quick intervention, the confrontation ended without any serious consequences. Only the laceration on Bjorn's forehead and a bruised rib on Ivar's side and some scratches and bruises remained. As well as a large portion of injured pride on both sides.

"Never forget what happened to Sigurd," Ivar called out to Bjorn as he was being pulled out of the room by Ubbe. It had almost led to another brawl, but Ubbe and Hvitserk did their best to keep the two away from each other.

"Is that a threat?"

"No, just well-intentioned advice, my dear brother."

—---------- BACK IN THE PRESENT —-----------

Since then, it had only gotten worse.

His relationship with Bjorn had remained frosty, as his brother continued to spy on him and didn't even feel the need to make a secret of it. He had also begun to ask more and more often, and especially more insistently, why he had been to Heahmund several times in a row and had come home without anything useful. He especially liked to do this in front of Ubbe and Hvitserk, which led to growing suspicion among them as well. Excuses were increasingly difficult to find and less and less accepted by all his brothers.

Bjorn's accusation that he had gone soft also unintentionally still haunted Ivar. Like a thorn, it had lodged itself deep inside him, causing unpleasant feelings from time to time. To compensate for this, he acted even more cold-heartedly than before in other areas. Only a few days ago, he had shot someone in front of his brothers without batting an eye. It had been absolutely not necessary. They could have made a statement in some other, less fatal way, but he had done it anyway, and so far no guilty conscience plagued him. Instead, it had felt good, somehow reassuring that his old reckless self was still there, shimmering menacingly beneath the surface.

However, in all areas that had to do with Heahmund, Bjorn was unfortunately right. Of course, Ivar already knew this by heart, but the extent to which this had already invaded his whole being nonetheless surprised him in the end.

It had brought him to a hospital. Not as a patient. No. Although the consideration was there to have himself admitted because Ivar felt sicker than ever before. Maybe, if he would ask nicely, his heart could be removed and replaced with a better, a smarter one. None that hurt so damn much since it had been smashed into a thousand little pieces not even 36 hours ago.

His stomach also rebelled, felt so heavy like it was filled with cement. The cause wasn't that he had eaten too much, for he hadn't been able to eat anything since yesterday. What was heavy on his stomach were the thoughts of what lay ahead and the pressure of knowing exactly what was now expected of him. All the doubts about whether all the last months had just been an illusion that he had blindly fed himself only added to the weight.

He was angry, very angry in fact. At Bjorn, at Heahmund and above all at himself. This also contributed to his discomfort, but the worst was the hurt and disappointment he was struggling with at the same time. Ivar felt completely lost, not sure what to believe and how to go on.

The reason for his inner turmoil was a simple file, not even a thick one. Bjorn had handed it to him yesterday morning with an arrogant grin that only widened when he saw the color drain from his face while looking at the contents. In it were photos, various documents, and half-scribbled notes. He had, after the first understanding of what he was looking at had set in, only been able to see it as if through a veil. Today he would no longer be able to describe exactly what he had seen, but Bjorn's taunting expression, Ivar had not forgotten - probably would not be able to forget for a long time. Too much shame had spread through him at the moment of realizing the full implications.

Shame that he had allowed himself to be toyed with, that he hadn't seen through Heahmund himself, but had fallen into his trap, blinded by something trivial like feelings.

It had pissed him off even more that Bjorn, in a way, had front-row tickets to his personal misery and that, of course, he had to be the one to rub his failure into his face. It wouldn't have been any easier to digest if Ubbe or Hvisterk had shared this information with him, but it would have been easier to lose his face in front of them. None of them would have enjoyed it as much as his oldest brother had.

Ivar also felt ashamed, because his first thought after becoming aware of the consequences was along the lines that Bjorn must have falsified the evidence presented. Despite the amount of proof, he still refused to believe what he had seen and read. He would prefer to turn off reason to avoid having to deal with the consequences of his misjudgment. To be betrayed by the person he had accepted into his heart was too bitter a pill to swallow.

The rage that had multiplied in him since then should have been enough to fuel his personal vendetta, to teach everyone involved in this spectacle a lesson. At least, that's what his old self would have done in a heartbeat. His old, uninfected self. Anything would be more understandable than him sitting here now, next to a hospital bed like a desperate wife, watching Heahmund's every little move, hoping that he would open his eyes again.

Fuck this thing called love! Fuck him in the first place that he had fallen for it! And fuck him, that he still couldn’t break loose from it.

Originally he had come into this room to put an end to his suffering, to really kill his source of light this time when three bullets were not enough to bring Heahmund down. Bullets that Bjorn had fired while Ivar had only been able to stand by, watching as if in trance as the bullets forced their way out of the gun in small explosions, only to burst into Heahmund's body milliseconds later. It all had happened as if in slow motion, and yet too quickly for him to have been able to prevent it.

The terrible feeling of seeing the person to whom one's heart belonged lying motionless on the floor still weighed heavily on Ivar. He would certainly not be able to forget those images either. At that moment, it had felt as if he himself was dying, or at least an important part of him. All the anger and rage he had felt towards Heahmund before had vanished the moment he had thought him dead. For a split second, there had been only emptiness inside him. Utter silence, until suddenly he was swept away by a wave of various emotions. All at once. The sheer force almost sent him to his knees had he not been leaning heavily against the car behind him.

Grief had been one of those feelings. Something he had never felt before, not even with Sigurd, his own brother. The emotion had been so strong that it had brought tears to his eyes, and with it, it had also brought him a new wave of ridicule from Bjorn. While his brother had dragged him into the getaway car, he had heard him laughing and calling him names again.

Ivar hadn't been able to pay much attention to that, which in retrospect had probably been better that way. A new quarrel, which might have ended in them killing each other, would certainly have broken out otherwise. His focus was solely directed at what was happening in the distance, as long as he could still catch a glimpse of it. The last thing he had seen was Heahmund's colleagues starting to take care of him. They all had rushed to his side, starting to put pressure on the wounds, shouting for an ambulance.

Back at home, Ivar hadn't wasted another second. He had immediately barricaded himself in his part of the house, making phone calls and calling in favors as if in a frenzy. Thus he had been able to find out quite quickly to which hospital Heahmund had been taken and that he had been brought there as an emergency and not as a corpse.

It was hard to put into words how relieved he had felt at that moment, and after he had finished that last call, he had simply sunk to the floor, tears freely streaming down his face - even though he was deeply ashamed of it, because crying was indeed something for sissies in his worldview. But at that moment he had been unable to control himself, even less than before. He had to surrender to his feelings in this way.

Although he didn't want to cry again, Ivar was on the verge of losing his composure once more. Seeing Heahmund so vulnerable hurt immensely. Ivar let his gaze glide over him. Heahmund was so pale and his face was adorned with a violet-bluish discoloration that Ivar couldn't make sense of. His hair was disheveled, and his half-naked torso was decorated with thick bandages over his shoulder and chest area.

He was sitting here for 30 minutes now, and so far he had done nothing but sink into self-pity and stare at Heahmund's deceptively peaceful-looking face, questioning for the hundredth time everything they had experienced together so far.

The more he questioned everything, the more little things he found that should have made him suspicious. That Heahmund had never forced himself on him or even tried to get further into his pants was one of those things that he now found strange. Back then, Ivar had simply thought of him as a gentleman who could sense his discomfort in this regard and therefore didn't rush things between them. All in all, they had only been seeing each other for real for about six months. Wasn't this still a normal period of time for couples to slowly get to know each other? Ivar thought so at least and had also felt comfortable with their pacing. But now it seemed to him as if Heahmund had had no interest in going that far from the beginning. For undercover missions, there were certainly guidelines that he was not allowed to exceed for the sake of his internal police credibility.

Ivar wondered if perhaps handjobs weren't supposed as too much as well, or if he could use the fact that they had done this to continue to trust Heahmund after all?

He had trusted him. Too much, probably, as he had to admit to himself now in retrospect. He had never told Heahmund anything that could be the undoing of his family, but he had been careless with his cell phone. He had often left it unattended while he was not in the same room. One situation, that should have made him more alert, Ivar still remembered.

He had gone to the bathroom shortly after they decided to call it a night and go to sleep. When he had left the room again, Heahmund came up to him with his cell phone in his hand. Whether the display had been on, Ivar could no longer tell, but that they had both paused for a moment, he still remembered. Heahmund had explained to him that he wanted to take it into the bedroom with him, and apologized just as directly in case he had crossed a line by doing so. That had been enough for Ivar to dismiss the incident as a thoughtful gesture, but of course, Heahmund had had plenty of time to snoop at that moment, and in many more later. Cops were certainly just as good at hacking access points as he was.

Love had indeed made him completely stupid.

Ivar leaned back in his chair and sighed heavily. His gaze fell on the small object he held in his sweaty palm. Thoughtfully, he let his thumb glide over the smooth surface, watching the clear liquid sloshing around in it, wondering whether or not he should use it. Perhaps he had found the cure for the parasite inside him? He could end its torment. It was just a simple act. He had actually done it before, and he hadn't thought much about it then, he had just done it, without hesitation. Efficiently, quickly, 100% successfully.

A small part of him hoped that he would get his old self back when Heahmund was gone. But could he simply leave everything behind then? Act coldly and calculatingly in all situations again, without letting himself be guided by feelings? Or had too much of Heahmund's light already spread through him? Damaged him forever?

These were questions that buzzed through his head in addition to everything else. Ivar couldn't answer any of those with certainty, nor could he answer the question if he even wanted to return to this version of his old self if it meant losing Heahmund for good.

With another heavy sigh caused by his mental struggles, Ivar slid forward in his seat and propped himself up on the edge of the bed with both forearms. Carefully, he placed the syringe from his hand next to him on the mattress and then reached for Heahmund's hand, which he clasped with both of his. He was careful not to touch the cannula sticking out of the back of the hand, which looked chalky white due to the heavy blood loss Heahmund had suffered.

The thought of not wanting to inflict more pain on Heahmund crossed his mind, and Ivar shook his head with a sigh only seconds later. What a fool he was. He felt so stupid and useless.

He had come here to take revenge on Heahmund and also to restore his standing among his brothers. Yet he was worried he might harm Heahmund with simple touches, yet he felt relief every time he saw the chest in front of him lifts a little due to a shallow inhale. He didn’t want to find the rhythmic sound of Heahmund’s heart monitors to be soothing for him. But he did.

Just as carefully as before, he moved their joined hands to his lips and pressed them against the unusually cold fingers. Immediately Ivar thought back to the beautiful moments during the past months, how Heahmund had stroked his hair with those very fingers or grabbed his chin to pull him into a kiss. The memories still gave him a comforting feeling. The anger and disappointment at the possible betrayal couldn't repress that. His softness was obviously stronger, and that also made Ivar realize that he wouldn't be able to do what he had come here for. There was simply no way he could end Heahmund's life, too great was the relief that he had survived the three gunshot wounds - two of them to the chest - in the first place.

How deluded had he been, to not be well aware of this before? Perhaps he had only had to lie to himself sufficiently, to convince himself that he could kill Heahmund, in order to appear convincing in front of his brothers, too. If he wouldn't be here, one of them would have taken it from him, and then the matter would surely have been settled. None of his brothers would be sitting here brooding.

Ivar kissed Heahmund's fingers again, letting his lips stay attached to them for a while longer. Another thought crossed his mind, making his eyes water again. Even if he wasn’t going to kill the man in front of him, he could not return to his side and pretend that nothing had happened either.

He had lost him one way or another. His first love, the first person he felt at ease with. The realization hurt more than the knowledge that he might have been betrayed.

If only he could confront Heahmund and ask him his side of things. Ivar still hoped that Bjorn had made everything up, that of course Heahmund loved him, and that they could just go on from where they had left off less than 36 hours ago. But Heahmund was sound asleep, had only been discharged from his second emergency operation an hour ago, and was actually not even allowed visitors yet. Ivar had been lucky that one of the nurses knew him and therefore also knew that she would be in a similar condition in another bed if she hadn't let him through.

Ivar sat in silence as time passed mercilessly. The ticking of the clock on the other side of the room echoed louder and louder in his head.

He tried to think. He knew he had to act, the faster the better. He couldn't return home and ask his brothers to spare Heahmund's life and himself the ridicule that would follow. At least Bjorn wouldn't think anything of it and wouldn't want to hear about compromise. The fronts between them were too hardened by now. Ivar was less concerned about Ubbe and Hvitserk. Those two were not so iron-fisted, didn’t see only black and white. They would somehow understand him, accept even a compromise maybe.

While thinking about a possible strategy, he could not refrain from running his fingertips over Heahmund's arm all the way up to his exposed shoulder. These would be the last moments he could be close to him, so Ivar wanted to be as close as possible. Make good use of them without being too creepy. He simply had to feel Heahmund one more time, to absorb everything that would be denied to him from now on. He was probably only torturing himself even more, but Ivar pushed this awareness aside. He would enjoy it now and would have plenty of time later to hate himself for having acted that way, inflicting even more pain onto him.

Secretly, Ivar also hoped that he could give Heahmund a good feeling with his presence, that he would feel safe in case he was able to perceive anything around him. The thought that he might be the last person Heahmund would want with him now, he repressed as well. Instead, thoughts about kissing Heahmund one more time took over the wheel.

Only gently, tentatively, worried he might disrupt the oxygen supply, Ivar joined their lips in a brief kiss before pulling away again, looking down at the handsome face that showed no emotion or sign that he was aware of his surroundings.

How he would like to look once again into Heahmund's bright eyes, which in the best case were still filled with love and admiration. But this wish would remain unfulfilled and maybe it was better that way. Ivar didn't know how he would bear it when there was no more love in them. This way he could hold on to the memory and his wishful thinking.

Except for the beeping of the monitor next to the bed and the ticking of the clock, the room remained quiet. The silence invited Ivar to indulge in one more moment of togetherness.

He moved the chair more to the headboard and leaned his upper body down. It was uncomfortable, but he managed to lie halfway on the bed so that at least his head and half of his chest rested on the mattress. His nose nudged against Heahmund's temple while his lips pressed feather-light kisses on every spot he reached. In a low voice, he began to speak, telling Heahmund that he was sorry. He made no confession about his former crimes, he still had that much sense left, but he still felt the need to apologize.

So close to Heahmund, once again enjoying his soothing aura, Ivar's head cleared a little, coming up with an idea that formed into a promising strategy the more he pursued this train of thought. After the plan took shape and still seemed promising, Ivar slowly straightened up. Once again he kissed Heahmund, at first only on top of his head, then again fleetingly on his lips before he leaned down to reach his backpack, which stood next to the chair he was sitting on. He opened it, reached in, rummaged around searching, and finally pulled out the item he was looking for.

It was one of his prepaid cell phones, which he often needed in his job. While he switched it on, he turned his gaze back to Heahmund, weighing once again whether he was doing the right thing. But without a magic crystal ball, who knew in the end? More important was that it felt right to him now at this moment and despite his overall confused state, it actually did.

After activating the phone, he first dragged the Memo app to the center of the screen and then opened it. Nimbly, his thumbs slid across the screen as he began to write. He had to control himself to remain matter-of-fact, like he normally was, so his presumably last message to Heahmund wouldn’t end up in a dime novel, which middle-aged women bought in newsstands to bring the lost romance back into their lives.

It was difficult, though. He still wanted to tell him so much, preferably explain everything to him in the smallest detail, so that Heahmund would understand him and how it had ended like this. It was his pitiful attempt to avoid the possibility of Heahmund hating him as soon as regained consciousness.

I love you - he had never said it out loud before, nor did he write it at the end of his message now, but Ivar allowed himself to say these words clearly in his thoughts for once, giving them room to come into existence.

Carefully, he placed the phone into Heahmund's hand after he had finished his message, grabbed his crutch, which he currently needed because all the stress was also making itself felt physically, and stood up ponderously. He had already lost too much time, and yet he paused for another moment, looking down at Heahmund, waiting for something he himself didn't even know what it was.

Of course, nothing happened, and so Ivar turned and headed for the door. Tears welled up in his eyes again, clouding his vision. He didn't want to leave, wanted to hold on to his illness a little longer, but with every step he took he got infected with another one.

No longer visible to him, Heahmund's eyelids began to twitch, and as Ivar pushed open the door and stepped through, not looking back again, they lifted, clearing the way for a pair of bright eyes.

--------------------------------------

Author's Note: It could be the first chapter of several more - the idea itself is bigger than this, but it can also be read as a sad - somehow strange - Oneshot in case I get sidetracked again.

Suddenly, I also feel the need to explore their early stages a bit more. This chapter was supposed to be a little bit of a setting, since the actual story starts after that, but I feel a little bit like I should have started right from the beginning, then this one wouldn't be so packed with info without much actual plot. Right? Well, it's a learning process, right²?

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