Logs:An Attractive Man Taking A Bath
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| RL Date: 2 May, 2015 |
| Who: R'oan, Lycinea, Irianke |
| Involves: Fort Weyr, High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: R'oan makes use of Irianke's offer of her bathing pool. |
| Where: Irianke and Niahvth's Weyr, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 4, Month 6, Turn 37 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: H'vier/Mentions, Z'riah/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: Sliiiiiightly back-dated. NSFW, in parts. |
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| It is mid-afternoon that finds R'oan away from the infirmary and in Irianke's weyr. Completely naked and now clean, he still soaks in the bath here, resting with a warm cloth covering his eyes and leaning back with his neck pillowed by stone. A half empty bottle of rum and a half empty tray are near at hand, the makings of lunch picked over. Lycinea wouldn't be much of a servant if she weren't able to be unobtrusive. Her footfalls are so soft as she approaches the bathing chamber with an arm full of freshly laundered towels that the first herald of her coming is probably the noise of the curtain being pushed aside and her voice, colored with exasperated annoyance, "What are you doing in Weyrwoman Irianke's bath?" "Bathing," R'oan answers as if it should be obvious, a dry drawl to his words. He reaches to remove that cloth over his eyes, to look to see who is addressing him, but he doesn't rush to cover his nudity or get out of the bath. Lya is almost certainly already fighting the temptation to throw a towel out of him. "Well, you're done now," she tells him, perhaps because she needs to create an opportunity for just such an action. "I need to get the bath ready for when Irianke gets back from her meeting." It's matter of fact. She's not looking at his nudity, but very much in the way that a weyrbred girl wouldn't look at others' nudity in the communal baths. It's once the cloth is removed that Lya's cheeks color with a blush. "Ugh." There's is the flicker of recognition as R'oan sees the young woman, the hint of a curved brow there at her reaction. But his answer is a simple, suggestive, "I think she'd be just as happy to come back and find me in it. So, you do whatever you need to do." And the tone there is firm: he is not leaving. In fact, he relaxes back against the stone again. Lycinea looks unamused. "Well, I wasn't going to have to do much, but now that you've been in it, I'm going to have to clean it out." As if R'oan has tainted it. "Does Irianke want you to be in her tub? Or are you just assuming she does, since it's there?" It's just possible that the young woman who moves to carefully place the towels where they belong is not talking so much about Irianke's bath and R'oans presence in it. "Don't worry, fierce guardian of the baths; your weyrwoman has given me permission to use it whenever I want," R'oan answers dismissively, a smile crooked on his lips in amusement. He shifts half-way out of the tub to reach for his bottle of rum even as she moves to place towels. Lycinea glances over her shoulder, in time to get an unintentional eyeful and subsequently rolls them, "She would." Is that a very vague annoyance directed at her precious weyrwoman? It might be. "Well, I won't be held responsible for whatever unsavory liberties you take with this bath." She moves to start putting out candles around its edge. "And if she tells you to go, you go, do you understand me?" Fierce guardian of the goldrider is more like it~ She nails him with a no-nonsense glare. "Darling, if she tells me that, I will." There's a hint of seriousness to R'oan's words there, as light as he keeps them and as dry as his tone is. His gaze settles on Lycinea, meeting that glare with a look of his own before he offers, "What happened at Southern Boll was an accident. There was a green and you were there." A bare shoulder is lifted in a dismissive, helpless shrug. "So, you're saying," Lycinea says blandly as she leans closer to him to set candles behind where his shoulders rest, "you wouldn't kiss me on purpose?" She must not mean to look up at him through her lashes. Mustn't she? R'oan's fingers lift from the water only to flick the errant drops clinging there at Lycinea as she leans closer, even as he answer with a humored, "I didn't say that. But that's not what happened." Lycinea flinches in the face of the drops. Tainted. Her lips purse in moody consideration as she shifts to lean across the brownrider to place two more candles on the edge of the bath on the other side. A laugh catches in R'oan's throat at that reaction, at the moodiness of the young woman, but as she leans across, he only watches her. Just the slant of grey-green eyes over her appreciatively as she moves. Lya lingers briefly in her lean to tilt her chin back toward him, expression thoughtful. Then she's straightening and going about her business. The fancy bath salts are gotten out and placed at the farthest edge from where he sits and she waggles a 'not for you' finger in his direction. She works at situating them just so, and then she's asking quietly, curiously. "So what is it, would you say, about me, that makes older men interested in kissing me? Is it all that obvious naivety of youth?" "Come on, sweetie; you must know that you're a beautiful young woman," R'oan counters to that question with careless ease, his crooked smile reappearing in the face of the question. But he continues, adding, "Maybe we're just trying to hold on to our youth. Pretend we can still interest women your age." "That's a line that men your age tell girls like me to try to get my interest." Lycinea tells him almost breezily. "And it's a terrible line," she adds with a roll of her eyes. "Are you? You don't seem the type to be overly concerned with your youthfulness or lack thereof. I heard one of the laundresses say that men are lucky because most of them only get better looking with age." She sniffs a little, as if she might not agree with the sentiment. R'oan's smile only curves into more of a smirk at that, more than a little smug and certainly confident in his own looks. "No. As I told you, though, I didn't mean to kiss you," he points out, a dryness to his words that is teasing. "I'm sure you've heard that line before from men your own age, though. Or women?" "But you also didn't say you wouldn't kiss me," Lycinea observes thoughtfully, looking at him a longer moment before turning to move items around and produce a pair of brushes and set them out, ready to be used. "No. The closest is my friend, Zif, but he's gay." So it doesn't count. "I suspect everyone else my age finds me largely too unpleasant to be bothered with," this is said with some measure of satisfaction. "And you never said you wouldn't kiss me. You must be interested in doing it again," counters R'oan with easy humor, lifting his rum to his lips finally to take a swig as he watches Lycinea. "Well, if your gay friend Zif told you, shouldn't that be more reason to believe you? He doesn't want to get your interest." "Well, I might be, if I were interested in kissing at all. But that would make you the second person I've kissed, accidentally, or otherwise that shares bed time with Weyrwoman Irianke, which you have to admit is awkward, verging on creepy." Nevermind that they have already kissed, so that much is already true. She leans on the edge of the tub, one hand wrapping around her middle to be met by the opposite hand as it perches on her hip. "Of course not, he has no gauge for what's attractive about a woman." She rolls her eyes. He's older and wiser, right? Shouldn't he know this already? "He'd probably be better at telling me if you're attractive," as though she might not be able to tell herself. The smile on R'oan's lips loses a bit of its edge at the topic of other men sharing bed time with Irianke, and R'oan doesn't pursue that topic. Instead, it's much easier for him to lean forward in the bath and question with humored concern, "Do you need help with that? Maybe we should send for him." "I'm not sure how the weyrwoman would feel about coming home from a stressful meeting," she assumes, "to find two men in her bath." Lya is either genuinely contemplative or feigning, but it's difficult to discern which. "Would you like to be in a bath with my attractive gay friend?" She wonders, canting her head now as she continues to study him. "Not particularly, but I do want to be sure that you know how attractive I am," R'oan answers with dry humor, that smile curving crooked once again as he meets her study with his own cool grey-green gaze. "And I do know how your weyrwoman would feel about it, and I'm sure she'd be pleased." "Do you?" Lycinea questions him with raised brows. "Because in the event that you kissed me again, you'd want me to feel fortunate that you're at least good looking? Or do you simply have a need for everyone to know and recognize that you feel you are good looking?" She purses her lips then, "I'm not sure she would be, given that he's gay. Maybe if he was only half-gay," she shrugs her shoulders. "It seems like it would be boring. To watch." Then again, she doesn't especially seem the type to get excited for the whole 'sex' thing. R'oan points a finger after she asks the second question, before tapping his own nose. "It'd be a shame if everyone didn't. Which is why you really should be made aware of it." And who knows why at this particular moment, the brownrider chooses to rise and stretch to his feet, unhurried to do anything as the water sluices off him. He adds as he does, "Darling, nothing with me is boring to watch." Lya should whirl and blush. That's probably what any equally inexperienced girl would do in her shoes, but for some reason, Lya doesn't. Blue-green eyes linger on him, taking him in; it was sort of an invitation to look, if not a fancy one done up on the weyrwoman's stationary. This is what Irianke walks into, the telltale signs of her arrival at her weyr gone unheard somehow. The shoes being kicked off onto a rug, the rustle of a light spring jacket tossed onto the couch, jewelry being unclasped and set down, and pins being pulled out of her hair. The footsteps, bare feet and all, are a little harder to ignore, the soft padding more audible the closer she gets until she's there. It all leads up to the goldrider stepping into her bathing area and finding R'oan posing for her assistant. There's a great number of emotions she could go through, but it's the, "Ah, hmmm." Her hands work themselves oddly, not quite wringing but definitely fidgety as her fingers fly against each other and settle onto her hips. Awkward. "Ah, yes then. I will leave you two to your conversation." Round about, walk. Walk away quickly. R'oan doesn't startle at Irianke's appearance, nor does he look guilty at the weyrwoman finding him standing naked there. As she turns to leave, he only reaches casually for one of those fresh towels that Lycinea brought, wrapping it around his hips and tucking it tight there while leaving the rest of the moisture on bare skin to dry naturally. His gaze slides towards the weyr that the goldrider's retreated to, but his only comment to Lycinea is a question of, "Well?" Lycinea is initially too shocked in the moments that follow Irianke's arrival and departure to speak. But after R'oan has made comment to her, her freeze thaws to give him an "Ugh!" that's probably supposed to be all disgust, but has just a little too much horror to be ignored. It's probably not his naked body that prompted that though, given the open (if not necessarily appreciative) observation she'd been doing (probably). She's darting after the goldrider, blurting, "It wasn't what it looked like!" As if she had any idea what it might've looked like. The teen's cheeks are ablaze with embarrassment, but can she be blamed for losing her composure in a moment like this? Irianke's reclined on her chaise, thumbing through a volume of pleasure reading, index finger playing with the top corner of the page she's 'reading'. Back and forth and back and forth, will she turn it, will she not? Ultimately, she's interrupted by Lycinea darting back and the page never gets turned. The book, instead, folds shut into her lap and she spares her assistant an amused, brow puckered look. "Finished so soon?" The bottle of rum comes with R'oan as he strolls out of that bathing room behind Lycinea, his clothes-- not. He answers Irianke easily, casually, "I was in there for hours. Soon is relative." But his lips twist into a smile for the goldrider. Irianke's assistant is almost certainly about to make answer when R'oan beats her to it. Instead, whatever she was going to say becomes a squawk of annoyance mingled with disbelief. "Are you trying to get me fired?" To the blonde man, only looking at him long enough to glare before she's moving to drop onto her knees next to Irianke. It might seem a bit dramatic, but it's genuinely motivated, her eyes turning up to the weyrwoman with deep worry. "I just went in to get your bath ready for you, and he-" viscious, awful, he, "-was in there. And we started talking and then--" Her cheeks ablaze and she looks like she might be ready to cry, for what defense has she, "And then he just stood up," a normally unspeakable crime, to be sure. Irianke tries to get a word in edge wise. Fails utterly. So instead of trying to say child and stopping half way through the word five times, she sits and waits for Lycinea to finish. "Lya," a side glance takes in R'oan and his nudeness. "Thank you, Lya. For everything you do. It was," what was it? "Awkward. It was awkward walking into a tableau such as that. But it is your prerogative to sleep with whom you wish and look upon who you desire, and I would not blame you. Or fire you for that matter. I have no claims on R'oan other than the time we decide to spend together." R'oan, she'll deal with later. That certainly sounds ominous, that last statement of Irianke's paired with everything else, perhaps. There is something thoughtful in the slide of grey-green eyes between the goldrider and Lycinea, but the conclusion that the man comes to is to turn around silently and retreat back to the bathing room and the clothes he left behind there. Lya looks horrified. (Don't worry, R'oan, it probably wasn't your backside. Probably.) "What?" is a squeak, and quickly, "No. No! No." She shakes her head fast and firm. "I didn't even want him to kiss me when he did at Weaver!" That time, she went to Weaver for Irianke, and returned with no useful rumors of the mystery weaver. "I don't-- I don't." She tries to communicate her lack of sexual activity or perhaps her interest level in R'oan, but fails pretty hard at making it clear which (if either). "I did kiss H'vier," she digs her hole, her cheeks even brighter in their hue, and is quick to defend, "but that was only an experiment to see if I liked it and it was just-- wet." The last word has her losing any kind of air from her sails and looking up at the goldrider as though she's throwing herself upon the older woman's mercy. There is honest bafflement in the goldrider's face, her eyes shifting to take in the departing R'oan and the young woman verbally prostrating herself before her. "I..," but no further words fall from Irianke's lips, her dark blue eyes looking disturbed. She rises from her chair, crossing the distance between her and her assistant and reaches out to press both hands against Lycinea's shoulders. "Listen to me. Listen." The words are deliberate, slowly spoken with her eyes fixed to Lya's. Should the girl look away, a gentle thumb will swing her focus back. "If you wish to kiss the people I sleep with, I am fine with that. If you wish to pursue more, I am fine with that. I promise. If they choose to spend their time with you, who am I to forbid it? I no less own them than they own me. If you choose not to pursue anything, I am fine with that too." The latter is added as an after thought, tacked on before her assistant might protest. "But if you'll excuse me." A glance back to the baths means to say what her voice cannot, and then her steps take her away from Lya to the baths. Lya almost certainly wants to say more to Irianke, to protest even with the addition, but she doesn't. Instead she looks wide-eyed back at the weyrwoman and then takes her cue to flee the weyr and not look back. R'oan has managed to clothe himself in the time Irianke and Lycinea have talked, some instinct (self-preservation) driving him to at least slide on that extra layer of protection between himself and the goldrider who comes to find him in the baths. Blonde hair has been tousled dry, the towel left discarded on the floor, but the brownrider smells like her, her soapsand certainly used in the process of his bath. He turns as he hears her approaching, shameless in the way he offers a crooked smile before even his defense by way of, "The guardian of your bathing room is rather zealous." Irianke's steps are deliberately sound-filled, heels clacking against the stone in her return to the baths, to come upon R'oan, now dressed. Not that this matters to the goldrider, her hands slipping up beneath the man's shirt to press her hand into his skin and lean up into him. "The guardian of my life is zealous." A moment passes, those stone-blue eyes of hers looking up at him consideringly. "Do you like her?" "She's a teenager," R'oan dismisses, his fingers catching at her hip as she leans into him to hold her there with just that pressure of fingertips. "She misinterpreted something to be what it wasn't." But his lips remain caught in that half-smile, the curve of a brow upwards joining it as he meets her gaze easily. "I'm going to guess that you are not jealous." "Does that bother you?" asks Irianke, her hand traveling to curve up along his back and finds his shoulder blades and the muscles there to caress. The look she gives him is too close and too beneath his chin, almost as if she were deliberately sinking down a little to make herself shorter, so her nose might graze along his lower jaw. "I can't tell if it bothers you, or if it's something you can't quite grasp as real." R'oan doesn't twist to watch her, instead her question earning a wry laugh that catches in the brownrider's throat before he clarifies, "That you could be jealous? No, I don't think I can grasp that." He leans forward then, lips just brushing against her ear that allows him to add in a murmur, "You could prove it." "That I'm not." It's so simple to her, so matter-of-fact, that when he leans in to brush her ears it elicits a soft, throaty response and one hand that slips from his back to his buckle, fingers at the ready to do more, but further action from him isn't encouraged just yet, a single finger lifting to push his face from hers. "Just one caveat. Not in my home. Not in this weyr or my baths. Respect my space as mine and I do not begrudge you your liaisons as I would hope you don't mine." The single finger aims to guide his face away just enough so he can see her level expression. "You think that's what you walked in on? That I was ready to fuck another woman in your weyr?" is what R'oan will question back, despite the promise in her fingers and that expression she levels on him. This, apparently, is where he will hold his ground with the quirk of a brow upwards at Irianke. Irianke pulls back, those hands of hers back where it's more appropriate, about his shoulders and over his shirt rather than under it. Her lean takes his expression in, the quirk of his brow considered as she takes him in as a whole. Ultimately, she decides, "No. But I thought it might be wise to know I do have boundaries even if they aren't what might be... traditionally expected." R'oan's expression is edged with annoyance, at least until Irianke's answer draws it back to a more neutral thing before he replies dismissively, "Believe me, love, if I am going to fuck someone else, it wouldn't have crossed my mind to do it in your weyr. Or with a teenager." His hand reaches for hers only after he finishes that, snagging it to intwine fingers with hers before lifting them to his lips. It's a sudden question, particularly as Irianke's eyes fall to the hand being kissed and her lips part, almost as if they want to be kissed as well. "Why are you dressed?" "If you were going to throw things, I didn't want my junk exposed," breathes out R'oan in dry humor, more of a drawl than anything else before he complies with those parted lips to move his mouth from fingers to claiming hers. He abandons the twine of their fingers as well, to reach for his shirt and tug it up, parting from the goldrider only to finish the job. It's in that part, when they aren't kissing anymore, in such a lovely way. Such kissing. Such ardor. It's then, she starts, her voice sly with humor as the situation of annoyance is turned back on him though hers is markedly jocular. "And why would I be throwing things if you weren't going to, what was it?" Her hand finishes an action long in coming this evening, slipping itself beneath his waist band to grip a claim on him there, a side smile expectant on her lips, "Fuck a teenager in my weyr?" Because women be crazy, is something that R'oan is surely too smart to say, but it is part of the look that finds Irianke's sly one. "As I said, she misinterpreted things," he explains with easy patience. "I had no idea how you would interpret them." He reaches for her in turn, though with the intent of finding the hem of her skirt to draw it to her hips. Any further than her hips would require her hand to move, to allow such an action and for the moment, Irianke does not seem inclined to let him go. Her skirt, however, rides her hips, helped pinned there by a step, and then anotehr step back into a wall and a leg rises to wrap just beneath his ass. It's amazing just how nimble fingers and a single hand can be within such confines, nor how expertly she, well, wields him. "I will miss this... you once you return to Fort." "I will stay here with you," promises R'oan on a breath, lips brushing that promise against her jaw, along the line of her neck in a slow, careless sweep. It is tempered with humor by the addition of a drier, "We'll follow you back to Igen, as well." His hand traces the curve of that bare leg, pulling her leg tighter around him as he does. "Are you offering to transfer just to fuck me?" There's definite humor in Irianke's words, a laugh that sounds to the ceilings and breathed into his neck. "That would be a fine tale. Too romantic for the likes of me." Her back arches into the wall and her body follows his tight pull upwards into him in a faux thrust that brings a delighted light dancing in her eyes. "Here? There? In the pool?" Where, where shall she have him and him her? A slow, crooked smile of R'oan's is the only answer to that question, though it certainly isn't a no as he trails a line of kisses against the goldrider's collar instead, before he counters, "Oh, I think you are more romantic than you pretend. You do like being swept off your feet an awful lot." To illustrate his point, those fingers caress back the way they came along her leg, before curving around her thigh in added support. "I think your assistant would kill us; she just cleaned the pool for you." "Did she?" Now why that troubles her enough that the hand in his pants falls momentarily lax is an oddity that Irianke does not explain further. "I," the extra emphasis punctuated with a firmer grip and the strength of one arm about his shoulder that pushes herself in an upward slide against the wall so a second leg might climb about his waist and bare down on him so his trailing kisses might find her breasts instead and her own lips find the top of his head to press into. Needless to say, her hand is not around his penis anymore. "Like." With her legs secure, and her hands free, she sheds her dress over her head and throws it somewhere, does it matter? "People." She's leaning down once more to nibble the top of his ear. "Who." Her breasts nuzzle his face. "Know." A drop in her weight as she falls from her perch to look at him. "What. To. Do." Each of those words is spaced out, though aren't interrupted by actions, just the level, desirous look of her blue eyes. "R'oan. Fuck me, before I fuck you." Because there's a difference, though neither option is a bad one. The support of his arms shifts even as she does, securing Irianke against him as his mouth does trail across those breasts so conveniently there, teeth and lips both marking caresses there. He doesn't wait for her to finish those words, before he is moving them away from that bathing pool towards the inner weyr and her waiting, luxurious bed to do exactly what she commands. It's after they're spent, the sounds of ragged breathing of a very good workout interrupting the silence of night, that Irianke asks, "Do you like Fort?" A lean leg is crossed over one of his and her head, pillowed by her curly hair, is nestled into his side. Her hand plays indolently over his body. "No," is the answer she draws from him, here and now, that perhaps she wouldn't get if R'oan weren't completely spent and entangled naked with the woman. "Not really. You?" A pause, before he clarifies, "High Reaches, not Fort." Irianke turns, rolling so her body is half across him, her chin pressed against the back of her hand, and that other one still roaming blindly, going where it will with no set course in mind. Just explore, memorize, find every cut ab, jut of bone and unexplored flesh. "I could like it here. The people," the brunette starts, then stops, laughing low. "Everything at Igen is so orderly, so traditional. The people here are jarring, but not," she notes, leaning upward to dance little kisses to his neck, "Completely unwelcome." It is only as she settles that way that R'oan's silver-green gaze meets hers, his own fingers lifting to brush a lock of hair from her face as he offers her a smile in turn for her answer. "Good. I'm glad you aren't miserable," sounds sincere, but also holds a bitterness of its own. "Would my misery even matter?" asks Irianke rhetorically. "I am sent where I am and I find anger exhausting." Her palm stills at his belly, her fingers sweeping one set of lines that lead downward. "Would you prefer High Reaches? Igen? Benden? R'oan. R'oan." With each repetition of his name, she inches her body further atop him, until she's spread all over him rather than against one side. "Was it fortuitous we met, that night at Ista?" "Does the misery of any dragonrider matter, then?" counters R'oan to that, his arm wrapping so easily around Irianke as she speads on top of him, as if he could contain her in the crook of his arm. "Are you going to promise me happiness, Irianke? A new life at a new Weyr where I will be happy?" Irianke smiles, a thoughtful smile, with her lips ultimately finding his to kiss. "I could never promise that. Happiness is yours to find, yours to claim, yours to keep if the cost is what you don't mind paying. I've made my peace to be happy with what I can and to shed what I can't. When this is all over, take me dancing. I like dancing. Possibly as much as I like the way you make my body sing." R'oan meets that kiss lightly, a simple thing that is nowhere near as precisely skilled as he is capable of but more comfortable, surely. "Where ever you want to go," he promises in a murmur. "As long as you wear something outrageously cut and stay on my arm." It says something that she laughs and then pauses, silent to think about that. "Not even a dance with someone else?" Innocuous enough, Irianke's dark eyes watch R'oan's reactions to her question. "Not for one night," R'oan replies without that thought, the words drawn up immediately, though it seems that perhaps the brownrider might realize the depth of what he's asking as he meets Irianke's gaze with a weighted one of his own, waiting neutrally for that answer. The hesitation she exhibits surfaces more in her eyes than anywhere else, the way they look at his face, then down, then up again long enough to make it known she is actually thinking. "R'oan." It's not a no. It's... a question, masked in the way of his name with just the smallest lilt. She doesn't wait to see if he understands what she's uncertain of, looking up to the wall behind her bed and then down again. "One night. If," there was always going to be caveats, "We aren't us." R'oan's lips slide into a soft smile at that answer, and an agreeable noise catches in his throat even before he murmurs, "For one night then, we aren't us and we'll be only with each other." He lifts fingers to catch on her chin, the knuckle curving beneath it so he can meet her gaze to add, "And then in the morning, you can visit H'vier or whoever you want immediately after." He keeps her looking at him specifically to show a genuine sincerity to those added words, no other lingering emotions about the inevitability. Irianke cocks a brow up. "In the morning, I will have work to do. But I appreciate your understanding. It is surprisingly rare," she adds, slipping off of him to curl against his side once more, the other one, and cozy in for the night. That appreciation is only met with that quiet sound that catches in R'oan's throat, even as he bends his head to press a kiss against the top of the weyrwoman's head. Yet his arm stays curled possessively around her, even once he drifts off into sleep. |
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