To her credit, Idun was at least coming to realize what it looked like when Bragi attempted a withering glare. He seemed to have a few versions of the same attempted end result. This latest one looked like he was weighing the pros and cons of letting out a sneeze, but Idun saw it for what it really was. She did not wither, but the corners of her eyes crinkled with unintentionally clear signs of contained laughter. How could she have ever been angry at this man? How had she ever looked at him and felt upset? Bragi was perfect. Bragi was using some secret sort of husband magic that broke her heart and pieced all the shards back together all at the same time, and all he was doing was existing. Idun breathed, and there was quiet laughter brightening the notes, and she knew, she knew in every inch of her body, that she was breathing for him.
He moved closer. It was rather convenient, considering how kissing him was a goal she never quite accomplished to her personal satisfaction. There was always room for improvement, and room for practice, and room to mysteriously forget she'd only just kissed him so that she could kiss him once again. Idun knew kissing his fingers was something she could've spent more time at, but the way he relaxed beneath her fingertips was very, very tempting, and even though he didn't say a word as she kissed him properly, Idun heard a long, long speech about love. Except it was better than a speech. It was a series of ballads and love letters and perfect, lovely poems. Her breath shook when they both pulled away. "I'm glad you forgive me," she finally whispered, though the response had been incredibly delayed. There was a definite note of smirking to his smile, but she couldn't even scold him for it. It was too welcome a sight.
"In the morning," Idun said softly, with a lazy shake of her head, "we can go together. It's a new rule, pending official approval. If we can do it together, we should. Since we're that sort of married couple. I've decided." Except maybe the kitchen would remain a place for solo activity of the Bragi-free variety. Idun would decide that later. Perhaps once Bragi let her go, though Idun was in no rush for that to happen. He pulled her down and instinct curled her easily against him, like she was meant to nuzzle against his side. Maybe she was. Maybe that was her true purpose. Idun didn't object to giving that theory a spin. Her only objection was to his clear refusal to put his wet head on her shoulder. Idun brought her shoulder up beneath his head, with a defiant eyebrow lift that begged him to challenge her.
And then she realized he had mentioned beards, and Idun laughed. "Oh Bragi," she whispered warmly. "I suppose a beard could only add to your credibility as a poetic genius." But if it was scratchy, Idun had the right to shave it off herself. She hummed thoughtfully rather than saying as much. Bragi looked very, very tired. "We would never conquer the natives. I'd probably want to learn their customs and maybe a few of their dances, but conquering them? Certainly not." She paused. "But this expansion can wait a while longer. I'm rather comfortable right now, and I'd hate to move." He needed to sleep more than she did. Idun had been sleeping, at least according to some abstract definition of sleep, but Bragi hadn't slept at all by the look of him. She'd present it as an idea of her own preference, but really, Idun only wanted to sleep so he would. "Maybe a little nap together first?"