One thing had led to the next, and within moments they'd tumbled onto the bed, playfuly teasing each other and muffling their laughs as not to betray their presence to young Valerius. "I got it first, I win", Spurius grinned triumphantly just as a brisk knock shook the door and Eirik's son barged in without missing a beat, sporting a scroll and a happy smile that froze at the sight on display. "What the-", Eirik cursed softly and fought back a yelp as the Roman's hands clenched involuntarily. "Sorry", Spurius murmured and removed his hands while he noticed in absurd detail how the young Northerner's initial smile dissolved into a pale and wide-eyed expression of utter disbelief before he whirled around, blindly pointing the scroll into Spurius' general direction.

Eirik frantically tried to hide the effects of their little game, which led to a great deal of confusion as his lover was lying smack on top of the other sheet, unable to move as he was helplessly quivering with suppressed mirth, so the Northerner settled for one of the cushions instead and kicked Spurius to cover himself. When modesty was restored to a certain degree, and Spurius had put on a straight face, he reached for the scroll and stared at the tag in silence and then at Olaf, whose eyes nervously darted in turns from his father, to Spurius and down on the floor. Spurius didn't trust himself to speak or even open his mouth.

"Archelaus says it has pictures."

After Olaf's helpful information on the subject Spurius managed only a small nod without bursting out loud, but as Eirik, holding the cushion at place with one hand, curiously leaned forward and enquired "What is it about?" he was swept away; for a moment he stared at father and son and back, then fell smack back onto the bed as he exploded in hysterical laughter. Tears rolled out of his eyes and he was gasping for air, yet he couldn't stop laughing so hard that it hurt. Eirik's face came into view, and his concerned expression sent him into another fit of laughter. Spurius tried to say something, but only strangled, indistinct sounds came out, so he simply pushed the scroll into Eirik's hands, motioning him to unroll it and see for himself.

"Love, I cannot read it", Eirik said gently as he took the scroll. "... pictures ..." the Roman managed to wheeze. Olaf stood beside the bed, bemused and slightly miffed by the Roman's strange behaviour. Spurius lay curled up, his face buried in sheets, and still his whole body shook convulsively, still helplessly in the grip of this all-consuming mirth. Olaf glanced at his father who had given up fighting with the cushion and instead, after another quizzical look at his lover, used both hands to open the scroll with the overly reverent touch and wary expression of those who are not accustomed to dealing with the written word.

Olaf saw the changes coming over Eirk's face while he scanned the contents of the scroll, first an incredulous stare, followed by an arched eyebrow and a slight quivering of the lips. "Tell me what is so wrong about that scroll?!" the young Northerner demanded angrily, his temper finally flaring up. "I stand here like a dumb ass-" He stopped short, too furious to continue as Eirik's resistance crumbled and gave way to unbridled laughter.

Unlike his lover Eirik regained control remarkably soon. He patted Spurius' shoulder and with his other hand he offered the scroll to his son. "Here, take a look for yourself", he smiled. "Obviously Archelaus has had his funny moments. We were not laughing about you, son. You better take a seat fist," he added as an afterthought, recalling Olaf's delicate feelings when it came to this subject.

Olaf almost snatched the scroll out of Eirik's hand and sat down on one of the chairs. For a moment he hesitated, then he unfurled it. What he saw made him blush in the deepest shade of red, almost as if his head had been dipped into blood. As if against his will he slowly browsed through it, his eyes darting from picture to picture, artful drawings of men making love, captured in positions he had never thought possible. The text floating around the images didn't mean anything to him, but he would have had to be blind or daft not to understand the meaning. They were quite graphic - to say the least. One part of him wanted to dispose of this offending piece at once, burn it in a brazier or whatever; the other part, which disturbed him more than he liked to acknowledge, couldn't break away from these horribly exciting illustrations.

Meanwhile even Spurius had regained his composure, and both men dressed swiftly while the young Northerner brooded over the scroll, his face still adorned with bright red splotches, but all in all thoroughly fascinated by the scroll's contents. "The gods be blessed", Spurius whispered with a wicked smile, "he is of your blood after all. At first I'd thought he would faint." Eirik glared at him for a moment. "I wasn't sure about that either", he admitted at last. "But I thought it was worth a try, after all a healer was close at hand." They exchanged a smile and left the youth to his studies while they pretended to be busy with something else on the other side of the room to grant him at least an illusion of privacy.

Olaf was so absorbed into his studies that he didn't register another soft knock on the door. Eirik opened and both of Philandros' twins entered, delivering a combination of late breakfast and early lunch and a large bowl of water along with sponges and towels. The delicious scents of Corinna's dishes wafted through the room and managed to shake the youth out of his revelries. He stared at the twins and tried in vain to cover the scroll, flushed a bright red again. "I ... It's not ...", he started to sputter. "Take a look at the last one", one of the twins suggested with a smug smile on his way out, adding an extra swing to his hips for emphasis. "It's the best of them all." The door closed and Olaf stared at it, rendered speechless by the implication.