Disclaimer: I don't own "Ragnarok," on Netflix or any of its characters, wishful thinking aside.

Authors Note #1: Because Turid and Erik deserve this, and so do I. Set post season two.

Warnings: sexual content, grief and loss, drama, romance, angst, friends to lovers, semi-public sex. Reference to loss of a child, we all know that kitchen counter has had worse days tbh.

(De)calcifying your Third eye

"Erik, I love you from the bottom of my heart, but I don't trust us in the kitchen at the same time. Stay out until the taco meat is cooked!"

It happened suddenly, for a gradual thing.

His head came up like a hiccup. Struck just a little bit dumb as he straightened from under the kitchen sink. Trying to fix that leak she'd mentioned. Desperate for something to do as Turid finished dinner and neither Laurits nor Magne were anywhere to be seen.

The hand Turid was using to stir stopped abruptly. Giving him the privacy to watch her face as she went through every stage of discomfort before settling on something softer. Something that looked like determination, even if her lips twitched. Not sure if she should laugh or cry.

It was the kind of expression that made him realize she meant it.

And honestly, he was less surprised than he thought he would be when he realized she wasn't the only one.

He never thought he'd be interested in anyone after his wife passed.

It had been years.

This? Whatever he and Turid had? It had snuck up on him.

Isolde would have found it hilarious. And maybe it was a testament to the moment, considering the reflection didn't make him sad. The pain was still there, but now it was tempered by the memory of her smile. How she would have rolled her eyes and asked what took him so long.

And here they were, smack in the middle of it.

"You do?" he finally asked, voice not quite hoarse enough to cover the break at the end. Stomach turning with excited adrenaline as they risked it all. Feeling far too old to be back here. To remember what he was supposed to say. What he was supposed to do. What-

"Yes..." she told him, head bobbing like her first instinct was to nod. Expression shifting quickly to concern when he stayed quiet. "Is that okay?"

Was it okay?

It felt like it was.

It felt like it could be.

It felt like he wanted it to be.

And maybe that was the difference.

For the first time in a long time, he wanted things to be possible.

He wanted to feel like things could be possible again.

Turid's expression was tremulous and kind. Cautious, careful and hopeful in the debris of this new possibly. He couldn't help but stare. To look at her tired, lovely face and find home there.

It only took two steps for him to cross over and kiss her.

It was an embarrassing, off-centered thing that made them chuckle and waver apart. Looking at each other with rash-red cheeks and eyes that sparkled in the low light. Swaying together as the moment sweetened, rather than soured. But it was the kiss that came after that made his belly heat. That had the spatula in her hand clattering onto the counter as he backed her into it. Suddenly remembering how much he'd missed this as her teeth grazed his lower lip - mouthy and sharp in the best way possible.

She squeaked out a surprised sound when he lifted her onto the counter. Bring them eye to eye as she reached for his glasses, setting them safely aside. Turning everything into a pleasant half-blur as her hands rucked up his sweater. Chilly fingers greedy and raking down his sides.

Hell. He really had forgotten.

The power flickered when he plucked at her shirt in a polite question. Only to laugh when she whipped it off without a moment's hesitation. Letting it fling into the dining room as she nipped his chin and brought him back to her with a heated kiss.

Christ.

They should be taking this elsewhere.

Magne and Laurits could come home at any moment.

But neither of them tried for a bedroom.

Instead, she undid the button of his jeans. Thighs rasping friction against his cock, making him choke on his own tongue. Trying to navigate turning the position into one where he could reach her. Unable to stop the fractured sound when a hand other than his own – small, warm and wicked – curled around his cock. Stroking him firmly as a mess of kisses kept him more than distracted.

Her ability to multi-task was a fearsome thing to behold.

But then, he shouldn't have been surprised.

He caught her by the hips, dragging her as close to the edge of the counter as he dared. The angle was shit. All of it the kind of teenage-awkward they should have outgrown. But somehow it was everything when he finally nudged inside. Hips jumping - rutting - working against gravity until he was buried deep and groaning.

She was wet. Wet around his cock. Wet between his fingers when he found her clit. Tracing where he'd split her. Making him feel alive again as old ghosts were no where to be found for the first time in ages. Leaving them alone. Just him and her and the humidity of a coming storm beyond the walls of her family's house.

Her nails bit into the spaces between his ribs. Moaning his name in a way he wanted to classify and preserve. Something he could enjoy in the privacy of his mind whenever he didn't have this. Her.

The lights flickered again as he leaned into her. Face buried in her neck, dragging kisses, as their hips moved together. Hiking, urgent and hungry in every way he thought he'd lost forever as he tucked himself into her hair and just breathed.

Her back arched, breasts puddling against his chest. Laughing through a moan when she fisted his sweater, yanking it up. Realizing he was still wearing it as they broke apart. He felt ten years younger as he exhaled a laugh. Knees buckling when he shrugged it off and she clenched around him in retaliation. Clattering the spatula to the floor. Meat and sauce everywhere.

"Erik..."

He got bold. Bold in a way he hadn't been for a long time. Before two funerals. Before the empty house. Before the echoes of his wife's laughter had faded – barely able to find it in his memory. Making it feel like the next logical step when he pulled the elastic from Turid's hair. Dropping dirty blond waves down her shoulders as her eyes flashed an unearthly blue.

Oh.

Oh, shit.

He gasped through a punishing breath when her hips snapped. Taking him deeper. Harder. Something had changed. Here and now. Because the strange light in her eyes hadn't faded and he could feel something building. Building in her. Building in him. Like a harbor wave cresting atop the one before it. Getting stronger and stronger as he just tried to weather it. Hips refusing to stop even when she said something. Mouth wet and open in the dip of his shoulder as she mouthed a plead in the old tongue.

And- somehow he knew it.

He could feel it.

It was in his blood, surging and alive.

The low rumble of a storm rattled through the valley, making his shoulders hunch. Feeling strange and restless as his hands traveled from her hips to her breasts. Thumbs circling her nipples until she sang to him. Struggling to find the words to ask her what was happening or what she meant. How she could know a language that'd been dead for almost as long as the Gods. Instead, his mouth fell slack. Getting stinging bites instead of kisses until, suddenly, the words were there.

"Erik, fremr... Fremr..."

He answered her in the same way. The harsh burr of their oldest language washing through him as she keened. Gripping his chin as the words trailed into ancient curses when he tongued the peak of her nipple. The tang of sweat and her making him hungry as his arms shook. Smothering himself there as her hands tangled in his hair.

He wasn't sure which of them moved first, but he went with it. Stumbling backwards. Slipping out of her with a wet sound, then catching her as she slipped off the counter. He said something, fumbling, when she pushed him downdowndown. Frantically violent until he was on his back on the floor and she was on top of him. Gripping him firmly as the blue in her eyes flashed in time with the lightning. Holding him there, poised and hers, before she sank down on his cock with a sound that rattled the eves.

Or maybe it was the thunder.

The world didn't stop; it wasn't that kind of revelation. Instead, for an ageless moment the world was a door swinging open. The roof above their heads disintegrated into complex equations and the acrid tang of cemented tar. The stars beyond it condensed, showing how they connected. Showing him which ones had died long ago, even when their light had never been brighter. Showing him every secret as his mind opened like a thousand hungry mouths.

He knew it all. Everything.

He knew every word as Turid gasped a plead in the old tongue. Guttural and demanding. He knew if he flipped them now and spread her thighs - if he curled his hand just so - he could make her orgasm stretch until she wetted his hand. Until she was screaming with it. But she was on top of him. Riding him like the muscles that had to be burning in her thighs were beyond her. Looking down at him with those same blue eyes. Pinning him in more ways than one, before-

"I know you," she crooned, blonde hair wild around her face. "I know your name..."

And. And he couldn't-

He came with a power that snapped him into her almost violently. Grabbing her hips and grinding deep. Forgetting why he shouldn't. Why he should have asked. Forgetting everything but the moment as she tipped her head back. Bringing his hand to her center until she was coming too. Collapsing on top of him as the storm drowned out their moans. Heart racing as the moments hazed past and the frantic hitch of their hips gradually slowed.

The house was dark when he opened his eyes. Not realizing he'd closed them as the window glowed with the distant lights from town. The storm must have taken the power out. Again.

Turid made a soft sound as she rolled off him, tucking herself into his chest. He smiled, sloe-eyed in the dark. Pressing a kiss into the back of her neck. Too sated to do anything more than arrange himself around her. Keeping her warm as the sweat that tacked their skin slowly began to dry. Promising a chill.

But he wasn't cold.

He should have been.

He was always cold this time of year.

But he wasn't cold now.

It made something itch in his mind's eye. Something that was starting to brighten into the weave of similar threads. Building into something that was on the precipice of becoming whole. An understanding that had been eluding him until she'd spoken in the old tongue.

And as if she could hear his brain working, she turned in his arms. Looking up at him until his attention was back in the present. He smiled at her. Because how could he not? Meeting her kiss with a slow, passionate one of his own. And for reasons that felt significant somehow, all he could taste on her tongue was the fading bouquet of lightning-charred pine.

Tomorrow, he would wonder why.

But not tonight.


A/N: Thank you for reading, please let me know what you think. – This story is now complete.

Reference:

- Fremr: "more."

- I alluded to the fan theories of who Turid and Erik might be if they are also gods. There is a reference to Turid being Laufey, a Norse mythology goddess. She is the mother of Loki. The name Laufey has numerous meanings, like 'full of leaves', and is related to lightning hitting needles or leaves to create fire.

- And there are references to Erik being Mirmir. Mimir is the Norse God of knowledge and wisdom. He is the wisest god of the Aesir. He was sent as a hostage during the Aesir-Vanir war. He was beheaded by the Aesir and his head sent to Asgard. Odin carried the head of Mimir afterwards, which recited secret knowledge and counsel to him.