Ivar the Boneless Imagines

Keeping Secrets

His girl didn't want to have sex.

That was okay, that was fine. He could handle that. He could handle not having sex for the time being. Even if he thought that marriage was not failproof– as Ragnar had cheated on Lagertha with mother and most certainly had been interested in other women while married to his mother. But if you didn't want to have sex yet, fine. That was fine. He could be patient.

Or that's what he kept telling himself while his brothers were out at bars, clubs getting drunk and bringing home gorgeous women. It wasn't so much he wanted them– but he certainly wanted what they had. It was another late night at his at your condo. You had a long day at your father's and told him all you wanted to do was relax in the best of ways.

"Can you get me a slip babe?" You call from the warm bath he drew for you. Those stupid, stringy little satin slips that teased him. Great, it was going to be one of those days. He took his crutch towards the deep cherry wood dresser within the bathroom and pulled a drawer out on its track.

He didn't necessarily know what he was expecting– but usually, you kept your night things here. Instead, there was something else there. His fingers ran across lacy thongs, lace trimmed push ups and that was just the start. It wasn't your normal cheekies that he saw under your skirts or slips. The teddies were plunging and sheer, bringing even heat to his cheeks. It's not like he never imagined you in these things ;bustiers, corsets and teddies were just the start. He pulled a flimsy piece out, running his fingers past the lacy neckline.

It wasn't for him– so who the fuck were these things for?

"Ivar!"

He slams the dresser shut, the jewelry cabinet rumbling along the base. Tossing the burgundy silken slip over his shoulder, he limps forward to where you let go of your bath. Pink, glittery water swirls down the drain as you dry yourself off with a fluffy white towel. The sweet scent of jasmine, sage and ylang ylang tickles his nose. You pluck the slip off his shoulder. In his other hand– he holds a black, plunging piece of lingerie.

"I didn't know you owned these." He says blatantly as you pull the slip over your head. You turn your head in Ivar's direction, spotting the offending lace in his hands. He pushes himself to a stand. "I mean... I've certainly never seen them."

So who are they for? Is his unspoken question. He watches the gears shifting in your mind. Maybe you're going to tell him there is no one else. That this has nothing to do with why you refuse to sleep with him despite his desire to be with you every night.

"It's for me." You answer. "Why can't I be pretty for me?"

The fuck it was. Ivar fists it in his hand, his voice a poisonous hiss.

"Who the fuck is he?" Ivar snaps. What did you get out of stringing him along? Your father owned a multi-million dollar horse breeding operation, ran a slaughterhouse and... you were set. You had a lot of money just like he did. Ivar inherited his father's company, half with that dumbbell Bjorn. Ragnar was retiring happy as a fucking lark to be out of this shit.

"There is no one else." You step forward, the tips of your manicured rosy fingers running across his muscled upper arms underneath his white tshirt. He tenses, but you take his cheeks and force him to you straight in the eyes. "No one."

Stupidly, he believes you. He... never thought he'd say that so easily ever. He snaps the hand on his cheek, pushing you with it to the powdery pink wall behind you.

"So," He takes a step. "If there's no other man..." Your back hit the wall with a thud and Ivar would lean close, his other hand snapping away from your hand to snap by your head. "Why haven't I ever seen it?"