Sinric shakes his head and laughs, water beading down his shoulders and breasts.

He reaches for Athelstan, pulling him close so he is pressed between the northmen. "What I want is not to wake from this dream, to hold onto it for as long as I can." The soap and bubbles makes his skin slick and he rubs between them hotly.

He wants them inside him, he wants to feel them. For fear this is some fleeting moment is no more substantial that the skin of the bubbles around them. Too beautiful, too unreal.