This isn't the first time you played Aslaug Sigurdssdottir.
For your best friend Hvitserk, bringing home a good girl has always been one of his top priorities. It wasn't the bimbos that Mother wanted... with big tits spilling out of their three sizes too small cups or tiny skirts of which Hvitserk would yank up to take a peek at cheeks covered in no way by stringy thongs.
No, mother wanted you.
The proud owner of a law firm and pencil skirts that were framed so tight that Hvitserk couldn't get a peep if he tried. It wasn't just that you were spry and now raking in the dough, either. It was the charm and grace that floated off your shoulders like the Valkyries his mother told him about as a child.
The same holly happy silver bells bullshit blasted your bluetooth system, leaving your ears ringing, eyes blinded by a slurry of snowy white in front of your eyes. The hotel was still a good two hours away. In this strong, frosty storm though... it wasn't happening.
"We're stopping." You tell your cheeky little friend.
"Yeah... yeah, I got it." Hvitserk nearly turns his eyes from the icy chalked roads to look at you, so you click your tongue at him, making him focus on what he was doing. Without hesitation, he agrees to find the hotel that you book on your phone.
Twenty minutes later, he's rushing in the frosty snow to get the bags out of the car for the night. His vans slip and slide across the icy pavement toward the hotel room that sat on the patio.
"What are you smiling so much for?" You glance over your shoulder to your friend. Hvitserk skids across the sidewalk with that dopey, weak smile on his full cheeks. With a whirl of the lock, the door opens. Hvitserk trots in first, throwing your suitcase to one side before he collapses onto one the bed.
"For the bed! Besides Mor's gonna give me the look."
The only fucking queen sized bed with a plain white comforter. It's red lap skirt looks comfortable– but you know it was a lie when you consider what you have packed in your suitcase.
"She'll be okay, I'll text her. She won't give me the look." Then you look to him. "They didn't have a twin beds." You can't help a pout, locking the door then adding the separate rust covered chain lock higher up. You would have taken anything else other than what you ended up with. Hvitserk stretches, exposing his tummy underneath a cute red and white Yul sweater. An adorable Vikings riding a horse is splattered across a stripe.
"So what? We'll just sleep together! We've done it before... like in high school, remember? Borg always liked to torture us with projects." Hvitserk beams, pushing himself up after yanking his black joggers up his ass. The bed looks a whole lot tinier when he's sitting on it like that. He flips off his shoes as you anxiously move to one of the fluffy pillows.
"Aren't you supposed to offer me the bed alone as the big man?" You curl your index and middle finger almost mockingly. Not that you were exactly excited for this hotel either. All the ones that you would usually book were taken for the night.
"Nope!" Hvitserk chirps. "It's fucking freezing in here. What kinda best friend are you?"
True, you think. It is unnecessarily cold. As you go to flip the heater on, it makes a gentle whirling as if starting to turn on. But no warmth comes from the space where it should blow out air. Only even colder air that leaves you cranking the knob one way– then another.
"Well, guess its gone to shit." You say, glancing over your shoulder to your best friend.
"Lucky that I brought my Yul sweaters and lucky blanket then." Hvitserk remarks. Hvitserk's blanket is his favourite richly forest green on the outside– and warm fuzzy white on the inside. You can't even remember why he loved that thing so much, but since you bought him it a few years ago, he hadn't let it go.
