#;odin

“Oh aye, dove. Why ya think my muscles are so big? C’n fit more love in me that way.”

Odin held Simon close, stroking his back, slow, soothing. Bird had plenty of mean monkeys hanging off his back, nasty things with sharp teeth and sharper claws. He tucked the smaller man closer, as if holding him tight could scare them all away. 

"C'n hear ya liver screamin' from here, birdie."

Odin slings his heavy arms around the man, rubbing a rough bearded cheek against him. Goddamn affectionate for a big old brute like him. Bein' intimidatin' and breakin' bones was more his style, cursin' an' smashin' shite t'hell an' high water. Could send all damned day jus' holdin' Simon close. Must be somethin' in the water.

"Ya goin' in't town with me t'day bird? Heard they restocked some shite, lazy bastards."

"Forget about ya? Impossible t'forget ya are, wee shite." It's all in good humor, a rare grin forming on Odin himself as he strides over to scoop Merle up in a bear hug. There's a slight danger of suffocation, but nothing Dixon can't handle, Odin's sure.

“Now ya look like the sorta man who knows his shite an’ how t’get it done.”

Odin looked the man up and down, hands on his hips and a grin on his face. Merle, the wee blond shite had said his name was. Well Odin found himself likin’ Merle a whole damn lot, even if it took too fuckin’ much intimidation to get his name out of the wee bastard. Just when ya thought some twink was well cowed he came back and near bit the nose off yer face. Sonofabitch.

Odin hissed, grumbling low, under his breath at Simon’s dabbing. Bird was gentle enough but damn if that shite didn’t sting. He should’ve just rubbed some dirt in it and put on a fresh shirt, keep pretending like every thing was fine at least until it scabbed over, or something.

“Wasn’t a lad, was one of them goddamn cats.” Odin grunted, low, fingers flexing and squeezing the arms of the chair. He raised an eyebrow then, looking down at his chest. 

"Birdie."

There was worry in his eyes, hot and sharp, seen in the set of his shoulders, the way his fingers twitched and stilled again as if he couldn't decide if he should reach out and touch the man. Worry. Maybe even fear, seein' Simon like this. He promised to protect him, keep him safe an' happy and there he was, bruised an' bloody. There was no rage, not yet, that'd all come later. After. God help whatever fool decided it was a fine idea to fuck around with Odin's bird. They'd be wishin' for death long before it came.

"Come...come 'ere, birdie. Let's get ya cleaned up, restin' in bed."