Logs:Just A Little Push
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| RL Date: 14 August, 2015 |
| Who: Jo, Yesia, Tacuseth, Aeaeth |
| Type: Log |
| What: After Aeaeth's first flight, the dragons are perfectly content; the same cannot be said of their human halves. |
| Where: Guest Weyr, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 16, Month 7, Turn 38 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Alida/Mentions, Kaitlin/Mentions |
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| It's some time, really. There's a mess of clothes in heaps all over the floor, and a tangle of bodies on the bed when it's all said and done. For Jo's part, she's naked in all of her scarred glory with her arms and legs draped over Yesia's body. At least briefly, she was sleep, resting from the heightened passions of the exchange before silently stirring awake. What she finds in her arms - perhaps realizing who was in her arms - draws her gaze over what she can see of features. She doesn't move to stir her, merely just watching her while Tacuseth is out there, somewhere, with his blue wing draped over his Aeaeth. All her simmering anger and mistrust makes it easy to believe that Yesia's a restless, fitful sleeper. Maybe she is, when she's not knocked unconscious from flight lust and the resultant sex. Maybe she just fuels herself on annoyance and klah all the rest of the time, and she sleeps soundly now because there's no losing when your dragon is in front. Not really. Regardless, Yesia's bed head is still somehow managable, the ringlets tugged loose from hands and sweat and sleep. At some point, she's succumbed to curling into Jo's body, resting her head on the bluerider's shoulder with content little sighs, and it's perhaps the stirring that brings her to a consciousness enough that she can complain, groggy, "Si'still," and curl in tighter still. When Yesia stirs enough to speak, Jo's lift of that corner of her mouth is the answer. Perhaps it's because Yesia isn't looking that she could show something genuine - her study of her face as she's curled into her body, not guarded as she looks on. She only tightens her hold on her when Yesia curls in more, her arms possessive with one curled around her waist and the other into her hair. She's willing to let the other sleep longer in order to watch her without her seeing - without her input - letting the peaceful quiet of the weyr seep through. It is Aeaeth who stirs first with a cavernous yawn, curling under Tacuseth's wing in much the same way Yesia does with Jo's arms, but at length her eyes crack open to survey the unfamiliar ledge on which they've landed and it's view of the lake, and eventually to also thread her consciousness out to her rider apologetically, pre-empting the anger she knows she'll find sooner or later. But not quite yet. Yesia's eyes suddenly open, groggy with sleep and then lit with surprise as she tries to bring all her senses into cohesion and make sense of whatever's happened. She brings the heel of her hand to her eye and tries to rub the sleep out, her head tilting into Jo's hand like an affectionate kitten, still a little oblivious in her contentment. So far, so good. Tacuseth is immensely content and it shows. His wing tight about Aeaeth as if protecting her, « You didn't do anything wrong, » he sends to her, perhaps sensing her apprehension. Indeed, Jo seems to be equally content in hugging Yesia close to her wiry body, her fingers on the small of the other's back giving a soft caress there to that nuzzle. If her lips stray close, still letting the flight passions linger all over her, it's to try and brush them gently and softly against Yesia's own lips. It will likely be what wakes her, but the convict rider is still taking chances anyway. Tacuseth's shadowy and desert-kissed touch is sleepy in Jo's mind, blurred by the lines of satisfaction and bliss. Still, he manages to keep at least one eye on his lady enough to reveal to her, « You like her. » « She doesn't know that, » Aeaeth says, ducking her head down as if she might hide away there. She tries to nudge her head beneath his chin, where she can rest half on his paws and half on his own, soaking up his comfort. « She will still be upset. » Though not immediately. "Mmmm," is for the kiss, instinct driving her sleepily forward into it, a hand raising for Jo's arms, for her chest, until Aeaeth's niggling consciousness trips the warning bells and she uses those hands to shove Jo away, for the second time in hours and scurry away, taking most of the bedding with her and barely missing rolling off the edge. "Not you, I said," she growls, no longer sweet or content. She's a red-headed devil with fire in her eyes. « She needs to learn, sweets, » Tacuseth is gentle, sleepy, allowing Aeaeth to be under his chin with his paws before nuzzling close. « It will fade, » is what is said on being upset. He seems confident of that while his Jo mimics that "Mmmm," sound from Yesia, that soft kiss a lingering one as perhaps one could tell that her growing need for more is barely being held at bay. Instinct has her arching her chest towards that touch, her tanned skin a little flush before the sudden shove takes her off-guard. "What the-?" is all that gets out in her shock as the convict rider becomes both awake fully and alert. The shove has her drawing up in shock from it along with the growl, her eyes blazing in hunger for the redhead and open confusion. To her growled words, all she can manage is a low and quiet, "Yesia..." « They're awake, » Aeaeth announces, dismayed, her voice fading. She makes herself very small. Yesia will learn alone, if the sudden way she hides her thoughts behind colors and bright lights is any indication. She wants nothing to do with it. She just wants to be happy, not like Yesia. Yesia. Who pulls the blankets up close to cover herself, runs a hand through her hair in such a way that it's desheveled and pretty, and draws herself into a ball as she looks around for her clothes. "Get out," she orders, voice uneven. The nearest garment that is clearly hers is several feet away, it seems, and she is less inclined to move just yet. "Don't say my name like that. You got what you wanted. You win. Now get out." Tacuseth is definitely on the listening end, his shadows covering those colors and bright lights. « This oughta be interestin' at least, » he sends, not seeming so concerned on his rider's front, at least as he drapes his head over Aeaeth's As for Jo, she's not moving. She runs a hand through her own wild mess of dark hair and doesn't bother covering up her body as she tries to orient herself. It's clearly hard not to look at Yesia, all messed up and pretty-like. And really, there's that quiet, "Don', Yesia." It's not pleading. It's calm, unusual perhaps for her. "Ya think I want to win like this?" she asks then to the last, looking around them. "Ya think I want ya like this? Against yer will? Not in control?" There's a slight frown as she drops, "That the kind of woman ya really think I am?" She meets her gaze then, her body tense. "Like that stopped you chasing her," the girl spits back, and there isn't enough blanket to cover her from Jo's gaze, even though she's fully covered. She shakes her head vehemently, turning away so she can stand and take the big swath of sheets with her to start collecting her things, and throw Jo's clothes at her too as she comes across the tell-tale leather. "You could have left, you knew she was close. You told me so, but you stayed and let him --" choke, and the next piece of Jo-garb she finds has force behind it when she lobs it at the bed. "She didn't listen to me," is almost a whisper, a clearer source of her anger. 'Cuz I can control what Tac does," Jo levels at her now, her tone heavily guarded as she finally looks away enough to catch some of the clothes being thrown her way. "Cuz ya can control what Aeaeth does, too. When they want to chase-- I can't leave," she adds as she finally gets up, anger tightening her frame as she turns from her and snatches up her pants. Really, the more she seems to hear, the more outrage simmers in her strong frame that's still churning with flight lust for her, until finally, as she pulls up her pants, unlaced, she pivots to face Yesia and hurls at her, "Yer infuriatin! Yer...they're dragons, Yesia! Dragons! Ya can't control'em in this. Ya can't...I've never met anyone so, so...and so...'n I want to-" Well. It's not often that Jo's rendered inchorent and speechless, standing there helpless. "Damnit!" The boot in her hand is actually probably hers, given their difference in height and proportions, but Yesia's got her arm back over her shoulder and is ready to throw it full force at Jo when she sees the bluerider come up from the bed. It hits the ground with a thump as her fingers go limp, and she backs away from her. It's easy to see, in that moment, that she hasn't fully forgotten how terrified she was of Jo. Apparently still is, on some primal level. She's not gaping, but her eyes are confused at each curtailed attempt at expression, and she is very aware of the distance between them, of Jo's unlaced pants and bare chest, of the tension that's crackling in the room. "You could have left," she insists, meek. "And she could have - chosen that brownrider, for me." She's not proddy still, not by the most literal letter of the word, but her emotions are still high, her sensitivity twanging. "So what? I'm so what? Stupid?" "Ya seem so against Alida'n Kait bein' there," Jo notes, her breathing heavy as she - flustered - tries in vain to look around for her tank top. "So it's just me then?" It seems rhetorical, for she shakes her head and takes her time in answering that last as she manages to snag her hidden tank top under the bed with the edge of her foot. "Yer so frustratin'," her answer is growled more than said, looking her way. "'N beautiful to be so..." Is it the flight talking? She bends down to snatch up her top. "Look, if ya want me gone, I'm gone," she speaks it low as she works her lean muscled arms through the tank's holes. Perhaps any nail marks could be seen on her skin over the criss cross scars. "I ain' gonna make it pretty for ya, darlin'. 'Least with me, if nothin' else, ya'll get honesty. Dragons are in control," she states that last with a quick look. "Can't change what they want, when they want it. Took me all of weyrlin'hood to learn that when I tried to stop Tacuseth from chasin'. Guess who really wins in the end." "Them too," Yesia snipes. That tanktop? Is definitely somewhere under Yesia's billowing sheet toga, forgotten or unnoticed or a combination. Godspeed in your search, since Yesia's not moving anywhere near the bluerider, her grip slowly losing white-knuckled intensity. "I just - she's supposed to be...me." It sounds lame, and hurt, and comes softer than her anger. "She's never told me no. Never. She always does what I ask, because she loves me, and..." And now, what? She waves one hand like something's buzzing near her ear, shooing it, the sheet falling from one shoulder as her grip on it becomes one handed.. Outside, Aeaeth withdraws again, sounding wrecked. « I do love her. That isn't fair. » "She is you," Jo says steadily, just standing there, staring at her. It's like she's at a loss of what to do, the motions of putting on any further clothing forgotten. "Just like Tac is me. Aeaeth loves ya'n she wants the best for ya. Even against what we want, y'know? Guess, they think they know us better," and there's a slight shrug given to that. "Know what we need. What'll be good for us." There's a pause and then a tentative step towards Yesia as she she says, "Don'....hate her for this, alright? Hate me if ya want. Ya wouldn' be the first, nor last. But, not her. She's a good sort, 'least how Tac tells it." Yesia stands there, stricken, too much so to even retreat a little bit more when Jo advances. "How would she know? She's a baby still." A baby flying around with boys, of course, time to grab the shotgun and plant rose bushes under her window, but the fact remains. "She's not even a turn old. She can't know what I need. I barely know." It's the last part that makes her duck her head, shaking it slowly in the negative despite, "She's the best sort." She's very deliberate to not look at anything - not Jo, not the ledge, not the decor, not the soft bruising the pale skin near her wrist. "She's not me. She's better than me. How can I hate her?" Tacuseth heaves a sigh before his wing shifts to cover Aeaeth more as he sends, « She won' ever hate you, sweets. Take heart. » While from Jo, "Ain' much a baby anymore," she states, looking towards the ledge. "They know everythin' 'bout us, though," she goes on to say. "It's frustratin' that they do, but they do. Know our feelins'. Our secrets. Our fears. Our desires. They try to help, in their way. Just know....she needs this, too, right?" with a nod towards the ledge. "It's just, this is the side effect. Maybe next time she'll end up choosin' a dragon whose rider is more yer likin', hm?" The last is meant to be uplifting, the smile brief but small. Belatedly, to something said as she finally looks over what clothes was thrown her way on the bed, "Y'know, I wouldn' worry 'bout it," she intones, her tone still guarded but some of her casual easiness bleeding through at the end. "Someday, ya'll know what ya need. Ya are still young yet, darlin'." Then she starts to work on lacing up her pants. « I know, » is a slow and eventual answer, Aeaeth's attention divided. Angry or not, it doesn't seem like she's keen on doing much but nuzzling up against Tacuseth with a little croon. « Tomorrow she will forget. » Or at least Aeaeth will, if she's allowed to. Yesia's brows knit down as she regards Jo's words and movements with a dejected snort. "Or maybe she'll decide never to go up again," is brittle-dry, her teeth bared briefly in a grimace that she tries to force into a smile. "I'm - " she starts, then holds her free hand out, palm up, to supplement what is likely meant to be an apology that she can't quite muster. "She likes Tacuseth a lot," is wry, touched with concern. « I won' forget ya, » is Tacuseth's reply to all of that with open and full contentment. At least they are having the best time on the ledge. Lacing up her pants with deft fingers, Jo, regards Yesia's words with a brief look from her. "'N I'll become Masterharper tomorrow," is her comment to that before she straightens up. She considers that hand for only a moment before she takes the slow steps to close the distance between them. Her warm, roughened hand closes over that softer one as she says, simply, "Don' worry 'bout it." And for that last, there's a brief squeeze to that hand as she says to it, "'N she'll like another soon enough. They always do." Yesia doesn't squeeze her hand back, but she also doesn't recoil or yank it away. Progress! "Should we stay and make a list of the things we'll do tomorrow?" the girl wants to know, too strained to be blithe, sounding closer to herself now even if her eyes cut to the floor, or out towards the ledge inscrutably rather than making contact with any part of Jo, exposed or otherwise. Her mouth twists to the side a little in a tight smile, head tilting the same direction, and when her gaze rises it's to finally land on Jo, the scars, the nail scratches, the teeth marks. Her mouth opens to say...something, but what she settles on is, "Your, uh, shirt." Her hand still there, remaining, there's a raised brow from Jo as she answers, bluntly, "Only one reason to stay here'n it ain' to be makin' lists." She nods to whatever pile of clothes can be found nearby on the floor, watching her gaze as it avoids landing on herself. When she finally does look at her and all the damage done, it's involuntary that gaze falls to those lips before her shirt is mentioned. "Right," she says, blinking, finally slipping her hand from Yesia's. "Lemme get it. My boots, too?" She steps back to look over what clothes they can find, frustration still tight in her movements as she looks. "Toss me the shirt'n I'll be out yer way. Best we leave our dragons where they are." Tacuseth doesn't look to be moving anytime soon, that is. "Right," Yesia echoes, chewing on her lower lip with her brows furrowed. When her hand is relinquished, it's to return to hold the sheets up, taking a deep breath as she starts to gather them up like the most voluminous skirt so she can look for the black article she is certain is there, somewhere. "Your boots are over there," somewhere in the general vicinity of the hearth. She's working the sheet awkwardly, pulling it into a big bundle in her arms so she can bend over and pluck at the tanktop with her fingertips. "You could stay," she says to the ground. "If Aeaeth thought - and Tacuseth for you - we." They are the best talkers. "If they're staying," she finishes lamely, holding the shirt out, having thrown enough clothes for today. When Yesia points towards the hearth for her boots, Jo nods and moves in search in there. She finds one of them at least, using her foot to try and upright it before she hears something perhaps unexpected. She pauses from bending to collect the one boot, looking her way in the heavy pause that springs up between them. She's slow to straighten up, boot in one hand, eyes slight narrowing onto the redhead. Then, as if the pause was long enough, "I could," she seems to venture to say, stepping her way, her body tense. "But not without you." It's bold statement, maybe, but perhaps it's clear the the convict rider is both still lost in those flight feelings and could bother with any fake pretenses. There's no denying what all that could mean, and she doesn't look to be sugar coating it. Once the shirt is held out though, she closes the distance to reach out for it. Residual, unresolved flight feelings. That's it. That's the perfect excuse to wait for Jo to get her fingers on the shirt but not relinquish it immediately. "I could stay." Her eye contact is intermittent, still flicking to other things in the weyr, anything that doesn't make the color rise on the apples of her cheeks. She clears her throat, her fingers loosening so Jo can take her shirt. "We could start again. It wasn't - uh, bad, what I remember." "What ya remember." When that shirt is in her care, Jo doesn't put it on. Rather, she studies Yesia with intent as the other tries to avoid looking at her. Even though the shirt is held between them, she closes the distance in the following silence before she says, "Look at me, Yesia." "Some of it was Aeaeth," Yesia says, her brows knitting. Jo must know that, even if it seemed more that the greenpair had split somehow near th end. She drags her eyes back at Jo, half-challenge, half...resigned, maybe. It's hard to tell. Her chin tilts just so. It is absolutely to her credit that she doesn't say what in that tone of hers, just lets it hang there unspoken. "Mmm," Jo seems to accept that answer, waiting for Yesia to meet her dark gaze. Once it happens, "Some, yes," she agrees, her voice low as meets the challenge in that gaze huskily. "Some of it was you." Muscles shift in her back and shoulders where those tall-tale marks could be seen, and her free hand lifts to try and brush a thumb lightly over those lips before she tries to draw Yesia into a heady kiss full of her need. It's certainly to be one of a challenge met that she found in those eyes. "Right," Yesia says again, turning into Jo's hand as it comes close. Is that a sigh? Hard to tell, really, because next they're kissing, and Yesia's reluctance is there, strong for several moments until it simply isn't anymore, her tenuous grip on the sheet gone as she reaches for Jo in whatever way she can, much to the relief of her lifemate outside, whose gentle encouragement plays no small part in the drive to the bed. « Finally, » the green mutters with no small amount of exasperation. She goes all boneless beside Tacuseth, finally relaxing again. « How exhausting. » Once reluctance is aside, giving with added murmured encouragement from Jo with "I ain' gonna hurt ya, baby," against those lips, when Yesia gives in it's hard to hold back that sigh to escape from her. The tank top ends up on the floor once again and she practically pulls that bedsheet from her in a desperate attempt to press her naked frame against her - well, almost, since there's her pants that's on. With a frustrated growl against those lips as she guides Yesia back towards the bed while she divests herself of those pants. It's only once she's naked fully again that she's possessive in drawing the redhead firm against her body before meeting the bed, her body seeming to say all the words that she couldn't well. « She'll be alright, sweets, » Tacuseth is just as exasperated and boneless beside Aeaeth, sharing in her relief. « Just needed a lil' push is all. » |
Comments
Alida (01:46, 15 August 2015 (PDT)) said...
Yes; the dragons actually DO manage to prod their riders in the right direction, sometimes. ^^ Nice. :)
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