Gavriil’s words warranted a curious tilt of the Viking’s head in a bird-like manner, ears slicking back to half mast as his icy, oceanic colored eyes assessed the cinnamon colored man with careful precision as the Epsilon went on about not upsetting Pump. She had asserted that she had some control over his sons, but she was not a parent and therefore Ragnar could not help but feel that in the end, it was Thistle and him that sound have had the ultimate control over them. It caused Ragnar to wonder that if the roles had been entirely reversed if Pump would, in turn, like it if someone went around telling her what she could and could not do with her pups and that she, as a true parent, had no real say in what happened. The chances were she would probably kill them the moment they came out of her womb but if she hadn’t, if she, during her pregnancy had grown to love the lives growing within her as Thistle had he wasn’t very confident that she would have taken it (in that theoretical scenario) all that well, either. Ragnar picked up on the perhaps saccharine tones Gavriil had, more than likely unknowingly, adopted when he spoke of Pump that left the Viking confused between whether he wanted to bristle in mild irritation or laugh.
Perhaps a bit of both for Ragnar’s left half of his lip lifted in a cheeky, suspecting half smirk; suspicions only reinforced by the growing gazed look in the other man’s eyes: the eyes of a man daydreaming about his lover, no doubt.