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“Listen to you,” Oliver said, “already styling them as king and consort when, as far as we know, Leif views him only as an unruly pet.” He lifted his brows. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, darling.”

Erik’s next sigh was easier; Oliver felt some of the tension bleed out of his body. “I don’t want him to get hurt.”

“Neither do I. But Leif is smart. If he thinks binding and bringing Ragnar to the surface is the right choice, then I think we have to have faith in him.”

“Faith,” Erik echoed, dubious.

“Yes, I know you don’t have much of that in anyone,” Oliver teased, grinning at him.

But Erik sat up, pushing Oliver up in the process, and captured his face, and kissed him long and deep. “I have faith in you, my little drake.”

Oliver’s stomach dropped in a pleasant way. He smiled. “That’s just because you want to go again.” He dropped his hand between Erik’s legs and felt the evidence of that truth.

Erik grinned, teeth flashing, and Oliver was glad to see the stress melt off his face. If he had to distract him from his troubles with his body, that was a sacrifice he was more than happy to make. “Can you blame me? I have the prettiest redheaded boy lying on to of me.”

Oh, low blow, sir. Oliver pushed on his unyielding chest. “Can I be on top this time?”

“Of course. After all, you’re quite the rider these days.”

“Oh, come off it.”