Hvitserk’s eyes looked around the room in confusion while he waited for Ivar to finish.  After a few seconds, he realized his brother had stopped talking.  “Okay. So?”

“So?  So, that’s the problem.  I can’t.”

“Of course you can.”  Hvitserk took a long swallow from his beer before picking up the remote and increasing the volume.  This was a stupid conversation, and even though he had seen this game before he would much rather keep watching it than have Ivar go into detail about any erectile dysfunctions he'd experienced.  “You know where to stick your pecker.  Just put it in there and move it around.”  

Ivar looked at his brother in disgust.  “I hate you.” He set his beer on the table and crawled out onto the balcony.  At the rate he was going, he would be smoking two packs a day if he didn’t get his anxiety under control soon.  As soon as he made it to the chairs, he hoisted himself onto one and lit a cigarette.  He looked back into the living room, wishing he could have brought his beer with him, but refused to ask Hvitserk for help.  Instead, he took his hair down from its bun, placed the band on his wrist, and began to rub his temples.    

This was not Hvitserk’s wheelhouse.  Being all big brotherly to Ivar was not something he had ever been good at.  Hvitserk liked to live by the 3 F’s of life – food, fucking and fun.  Having a deep, personal conversation about anyone's problems be them physical, mental, or sexual didn’t exactly fit into any of those categories.  He loved his little brother, that wasn’t even a question.  But this…this was Ubbe’s deal.  Hvitserk had always been the brother that would fight for Ivar if needed.  He was the one that would drive him to the store in the middle of the night when they smoked pot and they got the munchies.  Hvitserk was the brother that always tried to hook Ivar up with the friends and relatives of girls that he dated.  But talking about his feelings and shit?  Damn Ubbe for being busy.  

Reluctantly, Hvitserk turned off the television.  He grabbed the beer and Ivar’s phone before walking out to the balcony.  He placed the bottle in front of his brother and took his pack of cigarettes in return for his trouble.  Once he lit up, he took a seat and put his feet on the railing.  "Here,”  he said, sliding the phone over to Ivar.

Ivar dialed Ubbe’s number for the fourth time since leaving Cash’s hotel room. Resting his thumb against the bridge of his nose, he let the smoke escape his mouth.  He left his shoulders drooped when Ubbe’s voice message answered, “Hey, Boob, it’s Ivy again.  Call me when you have a chance.  I need advice and Serk’s an ass that knows nothing,” he rolled his eyes at Hvitserk, then looked back at the ground.  “Thanks. Bye.”

“Okay, Ivy…What’s up?”  Hvitserk blew the smoke from his nose just before swallowing his beer.  “Why can’t you fuck this girl?”  He scratched his patchy beard with his thumb, “She likes you, no?”  He watched Ivar nod.  “So, what’s the problem?”

Ivar let out a frustrated sigh.  Did he really want to go down this road with Hvitserk?  If he talked to him now, he was going to be made fun of for the rest of his life. But, then again, Hvitserk did have almost as many women as Bjorn, and he didn’t have to marry them.  Maybe he actually knew something about women.  It was doubtful, but how much could it hurt?

“I really like her.  A lot. But, I can’t…I’m not…I haven’t.” Ivar stuttered. His lips vibrated as he exhaled in frustration.   

“What?” Hvitserk fought with everything he had not to smile.  He pressed his beer bottle to his lips and held it there, so he could concentrate on something else besides the corners of his lips turning up.  

Ivar looked over the balcony at the city lights and took a deep breath. “I have trouble with sex, Serk.  It hasn’t gone so well before.”  He took another deep drag of his cigarette.  “When I was with Freydis, we tried a few times, but I couldn’t…you know. 

Hvitserk wouldn’t let that damn beer bottle go from his lips.  He held it to his mouth for dear life.  Instead, his eyes just grew wide as he looked around the balcony, feigning ignorance.  He raised his brows to signal that he had no idea what Ivar was referring to.

“I’ve never had an orgasm.”  There he said it.  Ivar paused and looked at Hvitserk for a reaction.  He even waited for a second for him to laugh or get all of his jokes out, but he didn’t. Instead, Hvitserk cleared his throat and shook his head as if he was shocked.

Finishing the rest of his beer in a few swallows, Hvitserk reached over to grab another.  If this talk was going to continue, he was going to need a lot more alcohol.  He opened the top, took a pull off of his cigarette, and leaned his elbows on his legs.  “Do you jerk off?”

“What?”

“Jerk off?  Do you?”

“No,” Ivar could feel his cheeks starting to burn hot with embarrassment.

Hvitserk squared his brother with an incredulous look.  “Oh, come on, Ivy. You’re not 13 anymore.  It’s not like the time I walked in on you with your pecker in your hand and you said you were just checking it out because you thought you might have broken another bone.”  He laughed out loud at that memory, “I didn’t believe you then and I don’t believe you now.”

Ivar was sure his face was as red as Hvitserk's socks, by now.  

“It’s your meat, you can beat it.”  Hvitserk laid a hand on his brother’s trying to seem compassionate. “Do you finish yourself off when you do it?”

If Ivar could run, he would have.  If he could fly, he would have jumped off the balcony and flown home.  Talking to Ubbe was never this embarrassing.  Why wasn't he answering his phone, damn him?

Reluctantly, Ivar shrugged, neither confirming or denying Hvitserk's question. 

“Oh, Ivy…you're looking at this all wrong.  This is a great problem to have!” Hvitserk sat his beer down and slapped his brother on the thigh.  He watched as Ivar’s eyebrows raised.  “My dear, brother, do you know how many women want a man that can go all night?  You’ve heard of the Kama Sutra?  Tantric sex?  You should be fucking all the time.  Tell me, my little Padawan,” he sat back in his seat with an interested look on his face, “what do you know about orgasm denial?”

Ivar grabbed his phone and stuffed it in his pocket.  He looked at his brother with disgust, “Stay away from me.”  He slid off the chair and started to make his way to the door to go back into the living room before he turned around to glare at Hvitserk one last time, "Don’t talk to me. Ever.”

“What?”  Hvitserk turned around in his chair, “I thought it was a good talk!” 

“I did not wake you up, did I?’’  Ivar rolled over in the bed and faced the window.  He had yet to turn the lamp off, but leaving the light on would alert Hvitserk that he was still awake.  The last thing he wanted was to talk to him anymore ever again.  “I am not used to sleeping without speaking to you first.”

Cash retucked the ends of her silk scarf around her head as she balanced the phone on her shoulder, “No.  I was just getting ready for bed.  I had the best shower.  I twisted my hair...”

“What are you wearing?”  Ivar smiled into the phone.

“A night shirt and boxers.” 

“A shirt and boxers - nothing sexier?”  Ivar smiled thinking about what she smelled like fresh from the shower. What scent soap did she use?  She looked like she would use something soft like peony and chamomile, but he couldn’t be sure.  

“Maybe if I reason to...Oooh,” she laughed light-heartedly, “shots fired.”

Ivar laughed with her.  “So much for being a gentleman, huh?”

“A gentleman?  You’re a choir boy.”  She smiled and picked at her nail polish.  Unfolding her legs from beneath her, she placed her feet on the floor feeling for her slippers.  “I mean, I thought I was shy.”

He pulled the covers over his legs and hummed.  “Now you know my secret.  I have always been shy.  I can talk when no one is around.  But in my face, I cannot. I get embarrassed.”  He extended his arm and watched himself open and close his hand. “There is so much I wish I could say to you.”

“Like what?”  She got off the couch and made her way to the bedroom.

His voice was soft when he answered her, “I’d tell you that I did not want to leave tonight.  Or that I wish we could sleep in one another’s arms, finally.  Oh wait, hang on.”  Ivar rolled toward the door when he heard Hvitserk knock, “What?” He asked impatiently.  When the door opened, Ivar’s eyes grew to the size of saucers.  “What are you doing here?”  

She was wearing a mid-thigh length baseball jersey nightshirt, and what wasn't covered by the jersey was hidden beneath a pair of boxer shorts.  She also wore a colorful headwrap that was tied almost like a turban. It wasn’t a look that he would classify as sexy, but the way she was standing there, smiling around that bottom lip in between her teeth.  It was enough to take his breath away. 

“Your brother texted me.  He said you wanted me to come over.”  She stood in the doorway trying to formulate another sentence, but the words were escaping her.  Should she not have come?  Did he want her there?  She couldn't tell from his face if he was happy to see her or not.  

Besides that, he was wearing a tank top. Though most of his torso was still covered, she could see the large tattoo piece he had described to her running across his back, shoulders and across his chest. And what a back,  chest, pair of shoulders and arms it was.  It was a sight to behold. 

He was at a loss for words.  Hvitserk texted her?  How did he get her phone number?  When did he have a chance to text her?  “Hvitserk?!” 

Ivar yelled, sitting on the bed, unsure what else to do at that moment.  Part of him wanted to invite Cash into his room, while the other half of him wanted to crawl away and hide.  However, the biggest part of him wanted to find his brother and kick his ass. 

Ivar waited not making eye contact with her, instead choosing to look out into the empty hallway for this asshole to appear.  

“Yeah?”  Hvitserk answered casually, walking to Ivar’s door peeling his orange. He looked genuinely clueless as to why Ivar was yelling for him this time of night.  When he looked over at his brother, who raised his shoulder and gave him a WTF look, he simply popped an orange slice in his mouth.  “I took her number before I gave you the phone,” he replied in English, chewing loudly, before swallowing.  “You need to talk to her – not me, not Boob.”  With that, Hvitserk smiled at them both, nodded goodnight, and pulled the bedroom door behind him. “You are welcome.”

Cash and Ivar were silent for a few seconds more before Cash cleared her throat and stepped further into the room.  As she approached the bed, she looked at Ivar for permission. “You still wanna have a sleepover?"

Reluctantly, he touched the edge of the covers.  He started to tell her what to expect when it came to his legs but figured since he wearing pajama bottoms he wouldn’t have to.  Not tonight, anyway.  It’s not like they were going to be naked, even though he wanted them to be, he wouldn’t let it get that far. “I told you I crawl without my…”

“Do you plan on us having a sleepwalking race tonight?”  Ivar shook his head. “Then you don’t need to explain anything to me. Just be you.”  She took a seat on the bed and pulled the covers over her legs. 

She couldn’t believe it.  After all this time, she was finally next to Ivar.  This was surreal on so many levels.  She didn’t care about the fact that he didn’t disclose all of his secrets to her, nor did she care that he couldn’t walk.  The only thing she did care about was that he was real and he was gentle and amazing and smelled good.  

She couldn’t quite place what products he’d used but his damp hair smelled like fruit and his body had that woodsy men’s body wash smell.  It wasn’t as sexy as the cologne he’d had on earlier, but those pheromone undertones of his were still putting her ovaries in an uproar.  

Ivar laid back on his pillows and extended his arm, inviting her into his personal space.  He wasn’t sure if he was supposed to ask or not, but making the gesture seemed like a good start. When her head found the space between his chest and shoulder, and he closed his arm around her body, all felt right with the world. “I just need a little bit of time, okay?” 

“For what?” she asked wrapping her arm around his waist. 

Ivar closed his eyes and breathed in her scent.  Coconuts.  "To be what you expected.”

“You already are.” 

You were friends once, you and Ivar. Growing up together, you always held his side, until he started to push you away. He got angry, and it was getting worse, leading to the point where not even you could find any reason to stick around. You felt unwanted, so you left him to handle his anger all by himself, his disability eventually becoming the thing that defines him. Sometimes you felt bad, you felt as if you should have tried harder, but then again, why would you?

He was different today, and it made you worried. Instead of fixing his gaze on you, most of the time he starred at the floor, where his nervous hands were picking at the grass. Apparently, something was wrong, and you couldn’t quite help yourself but feeling the need to make it better.

As you walked out of the water, the drops glittering on your skin, you noticed him lifting his gaze for a brief moment, just to fix it onto the ground once more.

Oh, well, what the hell. You must go talk to him now, you have to at least try.

You pulled your clothes on in a couple of quick moves, took a deep sigh, and headed his way.

You hesitated for a fraction of a second there before you spoke, your voice clearly revealing your nervousness.

-Ivar?

He didn’t answer. He never answered.

You wondered what so horrible could you have done to him, to deserve the treatment he’s giving you, but then again, you were aware it’s the kind of treatment everyone gets from him. It still hurt, though.

At the silence, you couldn’t help but take in on the sight.

He was no longer a kid who was once upon a time your friend. Right there in front of you sat a man, and a quite an impressive one.

Too bad he allowed his handicap to define and shape his character. He was angry, mad even, cruel and harsh, but impressive nonetheless.

He’d gone ways from the boy you once knew, and he was a sight for sore eyes.

-Ivar, don’t ignore me. Are you…are you okay? You asked, silently, waiting for any kind of reaction from him, but none came.

-Ivar?

For another minute which seemed like an eternity of rotten silence, you waited. Then your temper kicked in, never being the most patient one, you turned your back on him, forgetting for a moment who you’re talking to, and saying:

-Fine, you brat! Just enjoy your miserable existence then.

You started walking, ready to leave him to rot, but he suddenly spoke, and you stopped in your tracks.

-What do you want? He asked, his tone as provoking as ever.

Your eyes narrowed, looking at him with a tiny dose of disbelief. He actually spoke, and that itself was a huge improvement regarding your usual interaction. But you weren’t quite ready to calm your annoyed head down

-Well, I actually wanted to see if you’re fine. But I don’t care anymore.

- Of course you don’t. He answered. As if you ever did.

His words came like a bucket of iced cold water dropped on your skin. It froze and burned. Of course you cared, you always did, but the idiot never let you come near! How dares he to even think that you didn’t care?! You clenched your fists, bit your lip, and took a few deep breaths, because before you could speak, you had to calm down.

-What are you talking about, Ivar? You didn’t want me around, so I left. You never talked to me, so I didn’t talk to you. You never…ahh, screw this, Ivar. Are you okay?

Avoiding eye contact, he just shook his head as in a negative.

-Do you want to talk about it? You asked, but once again, he didn’t answer.

-Ivar! You called his name sounding almost desperate.

It ached you to see him like this.

You weren’t ready to admit defeat, so you sat next to him and waited. It was a done thing, you would wait for as long as it was necessary. It was either until he speaks, or until he leaves.

Time passed slowly, and after a long period of silence, he finally broke it.

-Why are you still here, Y/N? He asked you.

-I don’t know, you tell me. What’s wrong?

-Why would I talk about it with you?

-And why wouldn’t you?

-Because. I. Do. Not. Want. To.

-Good. You don’t have to. He finally moved his gaze from the floor, and the blue of his eyes pierced right through you. But I’m not leaving.

You watched anger and despair fill his eyes, the blue of them becoming dark and stormy, and showing their traces in his voice as well, as he growled his torment.

-I’m a cripple. That’s what’s wrong with me, yes? I’m a pathetic cripple and everyone either fears me, or just find me repulsive. Now, there you have it. Go.

But you wouldn’t leave. You always knew that Ivar’s soul was tortured by his state, and no matter the fact you haven’t talked in ages, you still knew him good enough to know that you can’t handle this with nice words or hugs or anything of that kind. You should know, you tried numerous times. But one thing you never tried, and it was to be tried now.

You lifted you skirt up to your knees, and shifted to Ivar’s lap, straddling him. Your hands grabbed either side of his face, making him unable to avoid meeting your gaze.

-Who are you? You asked him, your voice loud and harsh, looking for a reaction.

He stared back at you, confusion written all over his face. You growled at him once more.

-Who are you?

-I’m Ivar the Boneless, the cripple son of Ragnar. The one who should have died. Yes?

His voice revealed the pain hiding behind the rage his eyes were showing. This was not the answer you were aiming for. As he tried to free himself from your grip, you tightened it, making him unable to move.

-Who are you, Ivar son of Ragnar? Not what, but who?

He starred at you, boiling with anger, but giving no answer. One of your hands flew up, just to land on his cheek with a thud. You slapped Ivar the Boneless, and you didn’t regret it one bit. He was furious, and you saw it. He grabbed your hair and pulled you closer, growling in your face like a wounded animal.

-Who are you? You repeated once more, your voice hissing at him, your faces barely inches apart, before he finally answered with a loud growl.

-I am Ivar, the son of Ragnar. I am your prince, what you have apparently forgotten. Lift your hand up at me once more, and I’ll cut it off myself.

You smiled at him, releasing your grip, and getting back to your feet. With your voice now calm and gentle, you answered his threat with a grin.