Logs:An Understanding
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| RL Date: 2 October, 2014 |
| Who: G'laer, Z'riah |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: G'laer and Z'riah come to an understanding after their fistfight. |
| Where: Bathing Pools, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 21, Month 12, Turn 35 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Oliwer/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: Adult themes. Nudity. Sexual references. Back-dated. |
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| Bathing Pools, High Reaches Weyr Omnipresent clouds of steam slink across the tops of three naturally warm pools, set into the floor of this kidney-shaped cavern. Near the entrance the ceiling is high and polished, gleaming with little mineral specks as it sweeps downward into increasingly ragged, uneven steps. The foremost of the pools is squared off with wide steps leading down into the water and has faucets for bringing in cooler water from a rain-catching cistern. Primarily used for laundry, there's an almost constant film of suds along its surface until the circulating current clears it at the end of the day. Four sinks line the nearest wall and various tubs stored beneath allow for the washing of delicates. Laundry bags can be dropped off in the bins near the door and clean, folded laundry is stacked in rows of tall cubbies for easy pickup. The bend in the cavern leads to a rougher-hewn part of the chamber where the two circular bathing pools welcome those in need of a wash. Towels and washcloths are kept in neat stacks on shelves along the wall, along with sacks of sweetsand and a few bars of precious soap. Stone benches provide a place for sitting to remove shoes and clothing, while a row of gleaming brass hooks stand above, ready to hold clothes and robes.
"Hey, asshole." It's possibly enough to give Z'riah a heart-attack that the voice comes from quite close beside him where G'laer has crouched after stripping down, smelling of a good workout sweat. But the tone is congenial, so maybe, just maybe the other greenrider has a sense of humor after all. It's a good thing that Z'riah's head is already against the edge of the pool because he might hit it when he jumps at the voice otherwise. As it is, he twists and shoves away from the stone, taking a moment to recognize the other greenrider as the psychopath that beat him up the other day for reasons he's still not entirely clear on. "Hey," is all he offers, eyeing G'laer warily. Maybe, too, appreciatively, but just for a second. Well, given his crouch, he's in a good position to be appreciated. Z'riah won't appreciate the toothy grin that others would covet, but it's faded soon enough to G'laer's second of two relatively common expressions: the half smirk. His face still bears the yellowing bruise to his cheek and the lip is still healing of course. He drops his towel there and shifts without rising to get into the pool. "Do you usually go by another name?" He really doesn't appreciate the grin. Maybe some day! Z'riah shifts further away from the side of the pool as G'laer gets in. It might not be conscious motion, but he doesn't seem to be afraid. Just suspicious. And even that fades into a half grin soon enough. "Usually. Suppose asshole is one of my more common nicknames. Answer to Z'riah, too. Or even handsome, if you're feeling more friendly." G'laer pauses a moment, because... did Z'riah really just go there? "You've got stones, I'll give you that." The older man grants as he settles into what was formerly Z'riah's spot. A moment of silent consideration later, he says, "My weyrmate would want me to apologize. Or for you to. Though I doubt he'd encourage kissing and making up." The half-smirk renews itself Whether it should or not, that makes Z'riah's grin turn more into a smile. He doesn't approach the other greenrider, but he does start making his way back toward the edge of the pool so he can lean against the stone and settle back onto the ledge a little ways down. "Do you want me to apologize? It doesn't have to involve kissing." If his eyes flicker briefly toward what's hidden under the water now, it's probably not meant to be a subtle hint. Especially not now that he knows the man's weyrmate is a he. Maybe that he has a weyrmate should mean more to him, but it doesn't. It's probably a problem that G'laer seems to consider that for a moment. Maybe he's just staring at him because he's trying to estimate just how sizable Z'riah's balls actually are. "Are you always this accommodating to men that beat you? That can be a dangerous proclivity." They're huge. Glorious, really. "Beat is a strong word," says Z'riah like all G'laer did was pat him on the cheek and tell him to get lost. "You could have done a lot worse." He's well aware of that. "And I'd rather not be on your bad side if I can help it. If that means sucking your dick, well." Small price to pay, isn't it? "My life dream fulfilled. Someone wants to suck my cock to keep his pretty face intact." G'laer actually does roll his eyes. Then he turns to reach for the nearest bag of soapsand. He did come here for a reason after all. "Don't insult my dragon and we'll be fine." It sounds simple enough. Z'riah sighs like he's more than a little disappointed that they'll have to talk instead of doing other, more interesting, things. Especially when that talking is bound to include an apology. "We didn't mean to, for what it's worth. Yizibeth is... well, she's pretty." Not very bright, in other words. "She can be kind of... sensitive." He's choosing his words carefully. Maybe she's listening in. "And I can get dumb about it. But she's harmless. Sweet, even, once you get to know her." "Teisyth is sweet." G'laer says after a moment. Which is to say, she is neither pretty nor very bright. "She wouldn't notice if you shunned her from the first time you met her to the last." But the look that the man turns toward Z'riah says all the rest: that he notices. That it's not good if he has reason to notice. His hands go up peaceably in reaction to that look from the bigger greenrider. Z'riah is definitely not trying to start anything. Definitely not where it would be entirely too easy for G'laer to drown him before anyone could come save him. "Yizi said she seemed very nice after, for what it's worth. She was just... surprised." And there's a sense that she's not difficult to surprise. She probably wouldn't have survived long if there were still Thread in the skies. "We're sorry. Really." G'laer grunts to answer the apology as he rubs the soapsand across his scarred torso. "Imagine my surprise when she was not a bronze." He says simply. He doesn't go into, at least, that she's not even a very proper green. Not like Yizibeth for all her lack of brains. So that's progress from weyrlinghood. Z'riah can relate to that more than he'd care to admit, and his expression doesn't seem to have any issues admitting as much all on its own for a few moments there. "I do like bronzeriders," he says, covering that all up as he shifts to pull himself up onto the edge of the pool. He doesn't seem to have any intention of leaving G'laer in peace just yet, though. Sorry! "It's nice that she doesn't notice, though, you know?" Teisyth, he means. "Yiz cares a lot when she thinks someone doesn't like her." Which probably made the beginning of his own weyrlinghood a ton of fun. "I wouldn't have minded being one," G'laer says of the first point, "but being with them... The last one dislocated my shoulder and I had to stab him." He's joking, right? He must be joking. Who goes around admitting that kind of thing? But then, it is late, and maybe he's still trying to set Z'riah on the straight and narrow when it comes to himself and his unconventional lifemate. "Teisyth," the greenrider frowns a moment and looks to Z'riah. Why is he telling him any of this? Well, in for a thirty-second piece, in for a mark, "likes almost everyone. Except those that treat her like a child. Or try to force her into cuddles." He frowns. Now, just for a moment, imagine someone trying to force G'laer himself into cuddles. G'laer would probably dislike it more, but not by much. Like a good audience, Z'riah has the decency to wince at that revelation. But he must be scared to ask for details because he lets it stand without comment. "Never did like kids very much," is what he does decide to say, legs moving through the water not entirely unlike one of said kids. "And that's hard to believe. How can she not like cuddling when her rider seems like the most cuddliest ever? I bet you like to be the big spoon, huh." No frowning here! Z'riah is amusing himself. The half-smirk returns for the comment about kids, but G'laer doesn't volunteer any information on the topic. "I bet you really do like to get beaten," the greenrider returns of the latter, his tone quite even. "Or at least spanked." Maybe G'laer is amusing himself too! Maybe Oli would prefer the kissing and making up after all, if it ended there. "Well," allows Z'riah, "I prefer to know I'm not in danger of having anything permanently damaged." Like in random bowl brawls. Or stabbings with actual knives. "I bet you like to do the beating, don't you." It could be accusatory, but no. To the younger greenrider, it only sounds appealing. The way G'laer is considering Z'riah now is really... not healthy for his relationship with his weyrmate. Fortunately, the older man can turn to reach for more sand and stay that way. It's a vulnerable position, really, with his back to Z'riah, so something must have compelled him to do it to begin with and more to make him stay that way for any length of time. "Are you always so forward, or just when you've already had a taste?" Presumably, of his fist and anything else he might have to offer. Z'riah doesn't move immediately, probably considering his options and their varying risks and rewards. But when he does, it's slowly and quietly that he pushes himself off of the edge of the pool and glides boldly toward the other greenrider. His hand touches G'laer's back, exploring the scars with no small amount of interest. "Usually pretty forward. Easier that way. But having a taste... that does make me want more." Instead of what's probably a more baseline desire to hook up with his more standard forwardness. Shockingly, G'laer is not used to being hit on. The muscles of his back tense in a way that suggests a defensive move that might send Z'riah under the water is forthcoming. But it doesn't come. The muscles stay tensed; it really helps with Z'riah's interest to be sure, the scars pulling taut or puckering with the distinct musculature now obvious across the man's broad shoulders and back. But he doesn't move away like he ought. He does say quietly and with weight, though no trace of danger in his voice, "I have a weyrmate." When G'laer doesn't react poorly, Z'riah shifts closer. Close enough for the other greenrider to know he's interested in more than just touching, close enough for him to tilt his head toward G'laer's back and trace his tongue across one of the more prominent scars while his hand slides forward to explore the other man's hip and thigh. "I have a roommate," he says, like the only reason the weyrmate might be a problem is because they can't go back to his place. When the tongue touches his skin, G'laer freezes. It's not fear, of course. OF COURSE. There's no time to sort just what it is because Z'riah's hand is on his hip and as it reaches his thigh, one of G'laer's hands closes around the younger man's wrist. It's not a painful grip, but strong and firm nonetheless. "Z'riah," that he says the name so sternly probably doesn't help matters. Then he's clearing his throat. "I have a weyrmate." The hand is pulled away from his thigh and he looks back over his shoulder at the other greenrider. That means something, right?! A firm grip on his wrist and that stern baritone saying his name? Yes, please. Z'riah's hand doesn't completely still, pushing his wrist into G'laer's grip like he'll keep on doing what he was doing if the bigger man would just let go. But then his hand is getting pulled away and Z'riah lifts his clear blue, very not innocent gaze to look at G'laer. "Do you want me to stop, sir?" He doesn't want to, of course. That's pretty obvious. But he will if that's what G'laer tells him to do. He's pretty good at taking orders. "No." G'laer admits that much, not releasing the wrist and not letting it return to what it was doing. "But you will." It sounds like an order. The older greenrider must trust in that ability to take them because he releases the wrist. "But I have a weyrmate." Still, he doesn't move away. There's hope there for a moment, hope that makes the breath Z'riah draws in ragged with restrained anticipation. But G'laer tells him to stop instead and that hope slips into disappointment. When his wrist is released, the younger greenrider hesitates but, ultimately, obeys, taking a step back so there's no more contact at all. "Lucky man." The weyrmate. But probably only in the sense that G'laer will fuck him. Because weyrmating as a general concept probably doesn't mesh well with being someone like Z'riah. "Glad we worked things out," he adds. G'laer doesn't look at him. In fact, beyond the grunt of acknowledgement, Z'riah might as well not exist. And if Z'riah happens to get off from that kind of thing... well, G'laer can't take the blame for that, can he? |
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