(m) the lightning we generate without restraints

“I do not want it,” He repeated when she argued rather infuriatingly back to him, insisting with yet another glare that he needed it. He did not need her flowers, only her. He was fine. As shudder of heat and chill shivered along the strong curve of his spine, Ragnar mentally corrected his own contradiction. Okay. Maybe fine wasn’t the right word but he would endure and burn it off. It was not a big deal, giving Ragnar the feeling that her concern was borne of the females’ fussing instincts. His body only had to adjust to whatever sliver of whatever Odinn had left behind when he had released Ragnar’s body from his control. There was a small part of Ragnar, some teeny tiny still logical part that wondered in a weak whisper why he did not just explain it to Thistle, that argued if he could make her see then she would not force that gods awful shit down his throat that she called medicine. He glimpsed at the abandoned Jopi Weeds with unbidden disdain, lip curling back in disgust as another shiver wracked through his body violently. “This is not an illness your flowers can take away, Thistle,” Ragnar told her giving his head a shake before he returned to his assault of sultry and carnal kisses along different parts of her body. “Odinn gave me a small part of him when he possessed my body, my body has to adjust.” He was not so sure Thistle was going to believe him but the quickly fizzing rational side of him had given the thought that it had been worth a shot, worth an attempt to make her understand that he had been blessed by the Allfather, that a small sliver of the God now lived within Ragnar.

His trail of seductive kisses was cut short, yet again as she twisted away from him. Instinctively he moved immediately to ghost her movements, only to stop in confusion when she turned to face him, a coy smile to rival his own. “Heh,” The excited noise half of a smug laugh escaped the Viking as Thistle wrapped her paws around his neck, her teeth tugging at his ear and then at his neck, his strength, no where near what it normally was giving out as they tumbled to the earth their fur meshed as a melding of the moon and the sun despite how ungraceful the Viking had went down to the earth. He grunted from the impact of his body against the hard, unforgiving earth, confused for a moment as to how he got down upon the ground with her lingering over him. “Why love,” He beckoned her coyly, still sure that they were playing his game of seduction - one that he quite confidently intended to win.