Logs:Dream Come True
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| RL Date: 7 January, 2016 |
| Who: K'zin, Quinlys |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: After K'zin carries Quinlys off over his shoulder, the predictable happens, and then the unpredictable. |
| Where: Weyrlingmaster's Office, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 5, Month 10, Turn 39 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: C'ris/Mentions, Telavi/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: Sex. |
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| Even in loss, there's a certain amount of hot blood in the wrong parts that make a lot of dumb things seem like a great idea at the time. That much, and Rasavyth's tendency to keep hold of his rider for every last moment that he can, probably explains why K'zin has made the long walk to the weyrling complex, through the mercifully empty training cavern to the Weyrlingmaster's office, thoroughly unheeding of any bids to get down that his captive might have made. It's only once he's inside and kicking the door closed behind him that he really spares her much attention. The big table seems like the perfect place, of course, for delivery of his cargo and so he sets her, carefully even, ending up on his knees in front of her. "Quinlys," he addresses with a smug smile, his hands on her ankles, lest she try to kick him (and possibly so he can start undoing her boot laces, which he does, if he can). Quinlys squirms and flails and shrieks the entire way to the barracks, but either she's completely incapable of freeing herself from K'zin's clutches, or at least part of her simply doesn't want to-- because she's definitely still caught until she gets deposited on that table. True, she does aim to try and kick the bronzerider in front of her, but this, too, is a half-hearted attempt, and largely belied by the way she stretches her arms back and lounges upon the table, arraying herself in front of him with the bright cheeks and quickened pulse that is entirely flight-produced. "Mmm," she all-but-purrs. "The weyrlingmaster, on her desk," table, "in her office. Laid out for you." The kick is dealt with by those strong arms that anticipated it. "Dream come true, ma'am," K'zin actually-does-purr back to her, seeking to make quick work of those boots since there are far more interesting laces to attend to if he can get that far. "Not a recent dream, of course," of course. "But fulfillment of fantasy, to be sure." Not that he asks if she's indulging him; that kind of question could ruin everything. He does pause with those laces to tug his shirt off and expose those 'possibly the best on Pern, at least according to proddy Telavi' abs and all those other forge-won muscles. That makes Quinlys snort with laughter-- it's one thing for her to be all sultry and purr-y, but K'zin? Still, it's not off-putting enough to change her mind, or to prevent her from unbuttoning her own shirt, fingertips gliding down her rather softer, cuddlier torso. "Hurry," she prompts him, rather than comment on the state of his fantasies; she even lifts her hips from the table to encourage the prompt removal of her pants: she means business. "Or I might think twice." "Don't think. Not even once." K'zin tells her as he willingly assists with seeing that nothing comes between them and this. He won't even do the purr-y thing anymore, since that clearly doesn't do it for Quinlys. Maybe hot, fast and intense will do it for her. Even if they didn't win, K'zin seems to want to make sure the redhead has a good time and while he's not exactly rough (unless she seems to encourage that), he toes the line. This is about fucking, about satisfaction. That's all. Right. No thinking, then. Hair-triggered, thanks to the flight, Quinlys is pretty easy to please, and vocal in her responses-- she's not shy about making sure she gets what she wants, nor about pushing matters along to their ultimate conclusion. 'Rough' wouldn't be the right word, but hot, fast and intense? Absolutely. Afterwards, she's breathing too heavily to pull away immediately, her body shaking with exertion, her cheeks pale and green-tinged beneath their flush. K'zin needs a moment, too. Who can blame him? Particularly since satisfaction has a way of bringing the world back into focus and his focus is Quinlys' pale, green-tinged, flushed face. Brown eyes stare at her, perhaps a little confused about how they got here, like this, then carefully, he lifts himself up from the light press of body to body and slips free of her, quickly settling himself in his pants before tentatively reaching out a hand in offer to help her sit up. "You alright?" Quinlys swallows, hard, and covers her mouth with the back of one hand. She uses the other to take K'zin's hand and hoist herself into a sitting position, though that doesn't seem to help matters much. "Yeah," she says, after several moments, and several deep breaths. "It's not you." She still doesn't look any better, but she aims a smug smile (or, at least, the attempt of one) at him anyway. "That was fun. Don't blame me if C'ris hunts you down with those unhappy, puppy-dog eyes later, though." Another swallow. C'ris isn't the only one that can have puppy-dog eyes. K'zin does a pretty good impression himself, but not now. Now, he just has a creased brow of concern. "Need water? Whiskey?" He suggests, but with the implication of the broader: what does she need? He'll do that, if he can. "It-- was fun. I'm... more worried about Tela, really, but I'll-- brave the eyes when I have to." He glances over his shoulder toward the door where the rest of the world is probably waiting to pounce with unhappy puppy-dog eyes and hurt, soulful looks. "At least we're in it together?" That has to come with sort of a laugh, though it's not an easy sound. After a pause, Quinlys closes her eyes, breathes, and then says: "There's some crystallised ginger in-- my jacket, which I left on the floor." In the guest weyr. "Water. Water is fine." Her cheeks have gone pink with something other than the flush of recent sex, now, and keeping her eyes closed may well be, in part, a preventative measure. "It was a flight. It happens. It's not like it would ever happen otherwise." "No, you're right. And flights are-- allowed. I'm supposed to try for men, but there-- Yeah, that wasn't happening this time." K'zin sounds awkward as he looks around for the jacket, only belated realizing it's not here. Then the water. "It'll be weird, but 'it happens'. Then it'll be fine," he concludes, trying to offer her a reassuring look. "Hopefully C'ris won't take--" He grimaces, "I'm as asshole when there's a flight." A fucking asshole, it turns out. Despite herself, Quinlys can't help but allow a brief, rueful smile to curve about her mouth. "I egged you on," she points out, opening her eyes to look at K'zin, finally. "C'ris and Telavi probably have every reason to be frustrated and annoyed with us." Despite that, and despite everything, she doesn't seem wholly repentant. "But hopefully they're having a nice time together." "They do. Can I have a drink?" It's the kind of conversation that needs one. This, after K'zin has handed over her drink. "Yeah. Not... too nice. But, you know, at least as fun as that was. So we're even." The bronzerider's cheeks color in dusky blush even as he goes to search the familiar spot for the whiskey that's usually there. Quinlys nods her assent, gesturing towards the filing cabinet and its bottom drawer, though it's an abbreviated nod: too much motion, which has her swallowing heavily again. The water, however, now clasped between both hands, seems to help. Finally, "Telavi and I always have a very nice time. I'm just saying." K'zin freezes, eyes flickering closed at that last. He clears his throat, redoubling his efforts to find that whiskey. It's sorely needed. "Yeah. I've-- I wasn't kidding when I said I suggested-- I know you two enjoy each other." His expression is a little tight as he uncorks the bottle and (sorry Quinlys) drinks directly from the bottle. As an afterthought, he adds, "I'll replace this." And then too soberly, "In a way, it's sort of felt like we all sort of belong together. Not-- like that, of course, but I mean, shit, we all work well together, once we got the whole stupid jealousy thing worked out." That stupid jealousy thing that he's doing remarkably well with in this moment and that they may have to face from different sources soon. Quinlys, the queen of saying things that may be upsetting to other people, winces. "Sorry," she says, which seems relatively genuine. "We're just friends, though. That's all we've ever been. I don't do the whole... emotional attachment thing. The relationship thing." Except recently. "Does she know you asked to come back?" "No, it's-- It's fine. It would be better, really, if she had someone she wanted that way. I'd feel less like taking advantage, but if it was going to change just because I feel like I'm getting a better deal even if she can do as she likes sometimes, it would've changed turns before now." K'zin waves it off with more drinks. "Have you told C'ris you don't do the whole emotional attachment thing? He wanted your first date to go well so badly." It's obvious from the bronzerider's tone that he empathizes with that want. "I thought-- probably stupidly-- that I should ask you first if there was any hope before I told her. I didn't want to get her hopes up. I think -- I miss it. I think she does too. Working together. She knows I've been unhappy in Tundra, but I've been trying to put on a good face. Don't want to worry her if I'm stuck." Even if Telavi would probably rather be worried or given false hope if only to be included in that forethought. Quinlys doesn't answer the question about C'ris, and, indeed, seems intent on busying herself: the water seems to have helped, because now she's able to get up off the table and start dressing herself again, cheeks no longer quite so green, though she still looks a little pale. "You... don't learn, do you?" Now she glances back at him, shaking her head. "Don't you remember what it was like when you moved to Tundra in the first place? You can't just... are you a complete fucking moron?" "No, I'm really an idiot," K'zin's quiet, taking the judgment without a fight. It's possible, though, that until she just pointed it out, he hadn't thought of it like that. No doubt the intentions he told her were true. Carefully, the bottle is replaced and he draws the laces on his pants, silently moving to find his shirt and pull it on. "I'd better go, ma'am." Talking. It always ruins everything and his expression isn't quite able to hide that he's feeling a little chewed up and spit out now that the heat of the flight has left his blood. A long pause, follows, Quinlys' gaze tracking K'zin as he continues to get dressed and prepare to leave. "Wait," she says, suddenly, with a note of frustrated unhappiness woven through the syllable. K'zin may be an idiot (is an idiot), but he's (at least in recent turns) been good about following clear instructions. He waits, trying not to give her that look, but it seems to be a choice between looking at her with that look or looking away from her with something less pained. "I'm an idiot, but I love her. Asked her to weyrmate me, but she's smarter than both of us." There is the touch of tears in his eyes, but only the glimmer of them. A weeper still, but not here, not now. "Sorry." Ugh, feelz. "And she loves you," is honest; Quinlys has no doubts on that front. "And you're going to tell her what you did, apologise, and then ask if you can volunteer your time to help her teach the weyrlings how to between." It's not quite an order, but the sharpness of her expression encourages the possibility. K'zin's blinks mean that he probably doesn't understand the meaning of the words strung together as they've come out of her mouth. He opens his own, closes it, then opens it again. Say the smart thing, K'zin! "Yes, ma'am." Good job. "If-- if C'ris needs to talk to me, I'm-- we're friends. He should. I can. I will." If Quinlys wants him to. Barefooted, her shirt still unbuttoned, Quinlys does not look especially fearsome, despite the fierceness of her expression. Still. "I'll deal with C'ris," she says, simply. "You need to focus on Telavi. Go." K'zin looks at her a long moment, "Yes, ma'am." Then, "Do you want me to sneak in to grab your jacket?" It's a genuine offer, but the sudden boyish smile makes it more challenge than hardship. A pause-- and then Quinlys laughs. "No," she says. "I'll fetch it myself, later, if no one else picks it up. It won't be the first time. Go." She's leaning up against the table, now, and grabbing for her water again, pinched look returning. The bronzerider heads for the door, but he pauses, turning back to look at her, "Are you sure you're okay, Quin? If-- you need anything, before they're done, you'll let me know?" K'zin's good like that, considerate, even if apparently now he's struggling to follow instructions given twice. "I'm fine," Quinlys promises, though she's not meeting K'zin's gaze. "Just fine. It's been a long day, that's all. I'll head home shortly, and be... perfectly fine, tomorrow. Go." Third time's the charm, K'zin gives her a smile, a nod, and then heads out the door. And Quinlys? At least she waits until K'zin is out of earshot before she loses her lunch into a conveniently located trash receptacle. |
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