Ragnar orders breakfast and Athelstan wonders what happens now. Some magic spell got him upgraded from fan to groupie, gave him the best night of his life. But Ragnar must be able to make this happen whenever he likes. He trusts Ragnar will make it clear when their time is done. There’s another gig at City Hall tonight before they’ll be leaving Newcastle but he can’t expect Ragnar wants to spend another night with him.
The breakfast arrives and Ragnar essentially feeds Athelstan fruit salad and pancakes, maple syrup sticky on his fingers. Between bites, Ragnar asks, “Can you stay?”
Against all odds, the spell holds. Ragnar has interviews but they’re done at the hotel. Athelstan lounges, wondering if he should run for his laptop. He should probably mention to Ragnar he’s an aspiring music journalist. But he would never write about this. This is just for him.
Ragnar returns to the bed. His mouth hot and desirous against Athelstan’s skin. He feasts on him, Athelstan offering himself up to be taken again. He’s a bit tender, a bit overtired, so everything feels close to too much but Ragnar handles him so carefully Athelstan worries it might make him cry.
“Will you come to the show tonight?” Ragnar asks him. Athelstan is lying wrapped in Ragnar’s arms. Ragnar’s fingers spell unknown words into his skin.
He nods his head into Ragnar’s chest.
“Thank you, Athelstan.”
After a while, Ragnar asks, “And will you write about it?”
Athelstan freezes. “You know?”
“I’ve read your stuff about us. I liked it.” It’s not much, maybe two reviews published in actual magazines, a lot more on various music blogs.
“You know who I am?”
“I know enough to know I want to,” Ragnar corrects gently.
Athelstan lifts himself up, searching for another kiss.