It was late at night, and the longhouse was filled with silence broken only by the crackle of wood in the hearth. The air carried the scent of smoke and sea salt, still clinging to Ragnar’s skin after the long journey. You lay together in your bed, wrapped in a warm, heavy fur, and the chill seeping through the wooden walls made every closeness all the more desired.

His breathing was steady, yet you could feel the fatigue from the days spent at sea. Under your fingers, his beard was rough and his skin cool against your touch. He moved closer, letting his heavy arm rest across your hips, his hands warming you through the fabric of your shirt. In that moment, there was no world beyond this quiet corner, beyond his scent and his warmth.

No words were needed everything that mattered was in this brief moment, in the weight of his body against yours and in the slow rhythm of his breathing, growing deeper with every passing minute. Ragnar had returned, and you knew that even if he were to leave again tomorrow, this night belonged only to the two of you.