Re: Museum: Connor and Ragnar
"Or a nickname. Not priest," he teased lightly. Or monk, but he didn't say that one as he gazed upon Ragnar, cheeks flushing. His head ducked down for a moment before he bobbed it, once. That Ragnar and Ronan were both here -- there was no chance that he wouldn't come. He probably could have reached out to Ronan in other ways, maybe, but Ragnar? The only option was to lay eyes on him himself, and so here he was.
It did not surprise him that he was reached for, and he remained still, hands slowly reaching out to clasp Ragnar's forearms as he was explored, like Ragnar did not trust his eyes. That was the way of the Northmen -- the eyes could deceive. What could be touched, and felt, was not a lie.
His hands curled around Ragnar's wrists, fingertips feeling for the steady beat of his heart. "You don't have to anymore, Ragnar. I'm here," he murmured, gaze darting up to meet the other man's. Centuries ago he'd seen those eyes, and they were still as wonderful now as they had been then. "I'm here. I'm not leaving you."