Logs:Pants Not Optional
| |
|---|
| |
| RL Date: 5 September, 2015 |
| Who: Drex, Faryn |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Faryn is just doing her job. Drex just happens to be naked. Niahvth flies. |
| Where: Farideh's Weyr, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 15, Month 9, Turn 38 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: Cloudy with a 100% chance of goldflights. |
| Mentions: Farideh/Mentions, Irianke/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: Backdated! Oh. And NSFW. |
  |
| While it's morning, it's late enough that most respectable people have already gone off to start their day. Certainly that seems to be true of the weyrwoman; Roszadyth is nowhere to be seen. It's probably the perfect time to get some paperwork done, or collect that pile of hides that's on the table, or generally find a quite place in which to work. Faryn's missed a memo somewhere, or is frazzled because the weyr feels happily sated and fuzzy-headed, herself included. "Sorry, Farideh," she's calling as she enters, taking off the satchel slung across her chest to toss it on the couch and collect the hides that have been left for perusal, looking through them and resorting them. "I couldn't sleep for shit. Niahvth is terrible. You have something here from Irianke, and one of the assistant headwomen..." And this is all as she moves for the bedroom, having announced herself well enough by most estimations. Nope, no Farideh. The bed is rather messy, though, and it seems as if the weyr isn't completely unoccupied -- as she's speaking there's sounds coming from the bathroom. A moment later, a certain dirty pirate walks out of the bathroom, one hand scratching at his mess of hair, the other scratch at his balls. Because, yes, Drex is totally naked. It seems to take him a few steps before he processes that Faryn is there, and he stops, and stares. "Were you going to go to this, since Niahvth's --" Faryn carries on, looking up only to make a spirit-fingers gesture with her hand that is, apparently, meant to indicate glowing. Instead, she swallows, hesitates. Stares back, then, "Drex. Drex, sorry." Sorry enough to stand there, the hides lifted just enough to cover her mouth, rooted to the spot. Fuzzy-headed. Her eyes flick expectantly towards the bathroom, like she half expects Farideh to come out after him. Drex is stirred to movement by Faryn's apology, sidling over towards the bed and grabbing one of the pillows, using it to cover his groin area. There might be a flush of embarrasement, but his shoulders square. "Do you always wander into her bedroom?" he asks, in a way that is both accusing and perhaps a tad jealous. Faryn stays put. "Yes. No. Just when she oversleeps. Do you always walk around her weyr like that?" She moves then, flicking the hides to gesture at his pillow. The tips of her ears are most definitely pi, and with her mouth uncovered she's pressed her mouth into a thin line that isn't quite a frown. That earns a distinct frown from Drex. "Aint usually anyone to see." When she gestures at his pillow, he scowls. "You gonna keep watching, or are you gonna throw me pants over?" he nods in the direction of the chair behind her, over which a smattering of clothing has been tossed, most of it his. "I called, from the front room," Faryn says like it should excuse her, her eyes lifting to his. It's a relief when she can take her eyes off him for the the clothing pile, even if she says, "I'm not your assistant. Where'd Farideh go?" She picks up the first two articles - neither pants - then grabs them all with a grimace like they smell bad, and moves closer to him to dump them on the bed. "I was peeing," is Drex's sharp retort, like she should have known. Thankfully, the clothes seem relatively fresh, undoubtedly due to Farideh's insistence. He reaches for the clothes, then seems to realize neither is the bit of clothing he wants, and gives Faryn a look like he suspects it's deliberate. "Aint her assistant," he retorts in turn. "Something about the Weyrleader." He stalks past her towards the chair, which means she gets a nice view of his backside, instead. Faryn watches him go through the clothes she's brought, returning his glare for an entirely different reason and not bothering to dispute his logic. Instead, she complains, "Where are your pants?" She sounds distressed, but not angrily so. There's something else in her voice, and she focuses instead on, "I am her assistant. You're just her freeloading boyfriend right now. Who needs pants, put on your pants before--" Farideh gets home, probably. Drex's method of searching involves dumping the other clothes onto the ground, a little awkward since he's doing it one handed, still holding the pillow in place. "Maybe you stole 'em," he throws the accusation over his shoulder, turning to face her and scowling anew. "I aint freeloading. I'm working about the Weyr. Been repairing the fence to the feeding grounds. Maybe you can assist by finding my pants." "That benefits me in exactly zero ways," Faryn says, but she tosses the hides down near his first two discarded articles of clothing and is looking at his method of search with critical eyes. "Move, move," she says, hip checking him for his barb and crouching down to sort through the pile with both hands, more efficiently. "Are you sure they're in this one?" Drex nearly drops his pillow in surprise at Faryn's hip-checking of him, though he's quick enough to concede control of the search to her. "How should I know? I ain't a laundress. Fari has piles for this and piles for that." And he's learned to stop questioning such things. "Then this is the shirt pile," Faryn says, resigned, but a moment later, "Wait. Here." Maybe she should have considered situational proximity, because when she yanks them out of the pile, it puts her eyes aligned with Drex's pillow. She waves them insistently, eyes ranging up the pillow, and there's plenty to see even if he's covering his important bits. It culminates in her hissing, "Niahvth," like a swear, and swallowing visibly. Drex snatches them from her, and there's a fluster that might be attributed to the sudden heat. "At least turn around. Don't want you girls comparing notes like you always seem to do," he grumbles. Nevermind she's already got enough of an eyeful to do it. "What?" He's blankly uncomprehending why she mentions a dragon's name. Faryn should go. She even draws her hand back when he snatches the pants from her, looking fuzzier; outside, that glowing gold might be glowing more, but she wouldn't know. Her eyes are locked on a target. Her laugh is deprecating. "Nobody's comparing notes. You don't feel her?" "All I know it's hot as fuck and I can't put on my pants with you staring at me," Drex retorts hotly. Meanwhile, he stares at Faryn for a moment longer, and takes a step towards her. Maybe it's meant to be threatening? In someone else, it might be threatening. Faryn doesn't budge; call it lack of self-preservation. "I'm not staring." She is, shaking her head in little stunted movements that barely count. "Stop being a baby and put your pants on." That, then, is completely at odds with the way she closes on him, not giving him much room to accomplish anything without retreating. "She's going." Niahvth. It's probably difficult to look so threatening when one is holding a pillow over one's genitals with one hand, and holding one's pants -- not on one's body -- with the other. Still, Drex tries, discarding the pants in order to bodily try to shove her backwards, with a hand fumbling for her shoulder, or close enough. "Good. Go," he misunderstands her. He touches her, and that breaks her resolve opposite of what he clearly wants. Faryn's quick to move, though, and close enough may be her chest, however briefly as she ducks his arm and closes in again, up on her tiptoes with a whispered, "Sorry." Her hands are against his chest, "We're going to--" Kiss. If he isn't as fast as she is. Outside: footsteps, not to this weyr but another. Lots of hurried footsteps. Mercifully, perhaps, Drex is still clinging to that pillow, so there's that. But then there's also kissing, which he seems to quite enjoy, his free hand tangling into her hair during the lovely moment. It's the footsteps that make him jerk back abruptly, yelping, "Fari!" with a wide-eyed alarm. But no goldrider appears. He clearly doesn't understand comprehend the need for Farideh to not be here right now. "We aint." He's having a bit of difficulty with his pillow, now, awkward and trying not to focus on Faryn. "We can't." "No. She's -- she has to be gone. It's not safe, if she's here." Not just for this, but for Niahvth launching into the sky, for the chase that will happen. Faryn reaches down, snatches the pillow out of his hand and throws it away. "She won't know. We won't tell her. She'll understand. It's Niahvth," she tries to impress on him conflicting reasoning, pressing against him again, more fully, and moving just so. "Drex." With the pillow snatched away from him, it's clear just how affected Drex is by the flight, and his hands drop to kind of uselessly cover the evidence. "She'll know!" he insists, "She'll chop my dick off and I like my dick!" With Faryn advancing, he backs away, trips over some of the clothing he'd tossed onto the floor earlier, staring up at her. "Faryn," it's not quite the same tone she uses, but it's a tone all the same. Faryn's hands ball into fists, eyes closing. She looks seconds from controlling herself, or running off, but when she opens her eyes again they don't focus quite right, foggy with lust and color high on her cheeks. She admits, "Me too," as she sinks to her knees beside him. "She won't know. I can't--" Go. Stop. It's a good enough tone, at least, to warrant her leaning forward and kissing him again, aggressive, demanding. Drex is trying, really trying, shaking his head, jaw tight as he holds a hand up as if to hold her at bay. But Faryn is leaning over him and kissing him and it really doesn't take him long to respond to that demanding aggression, hands tangling into her hair again. Moments later he rolls, pulling her with him, so that he's on top. There's no more protestations; he's fumbling to get her clothing off with a desperate need. Faryn tries too. Really. Just, the other direction. If they were working in concert, their control would be admirable. As it is, she melts when he finally responds. She makes a throaty sound of complaint when they roll, but that is all, the last complaint from either of them; she doesn't linger on it, instead helping to divest her clothes with a strange efficiency given her apparent inability to not do this. Her arms twine around his neck, and she pulls him down, pressing up into him with a low groan and long arch of her back. The flight is relatively short, and so, too, is this: there's no desire to see her sated so much as it is Drex's to see him sated, quick thrusts making relatively short work of that need, almost like he's angry about it. When it's done, he rolls off her with relative gentleness, jaw tight as he stares at the ceiling. It doesn't take much, her state, all that build up. It takes Faryn a few minutes to catch up, let her brain clear. Let it all sink in. When it does she covers her face with both hands. It's muffled, when she says, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." Then, not quite an afterthought, sounding wretched. "Farideh." But she takes a deep breath and moves with a sigh, looking for her clothes, suddenly much more modest as she gathers them. She even tosses Drex his pants. All things considered, finding his pants now is about the least of Drex's worries. He grunts an agreement as he sits up, grabbing the pants tossed in his direction but only holding onto them. "This was how she and I first... y'know." His gaze darts awkwardly away from him, and with a sharp exhale. "You wanna take a bath first?" he asks, and then with a grimace. "Not with me, just...," he makes a vague gesture at her. "How romantic," Faryn notes, unable to stop her eyebrows going up; they've got their own minds. There's a perfunctory glance for the bathing room, a nnnh sound to reject it out of hand. "No. I'll use the pools. For hours." She dresses, quickly, not looking at him save a brief steal of a glance as she stands, but she hovers. "Are we going to tell her?" At risk of Drex's dick, of course. "I... I don't know. Ought to." He's frowning. "But..." but, he looks rather torn. "Aint our fault. Fucking goldriders." Even if he is fucking a goldrider. Well, since she isn't going to use it, Drex pushes himself with the intent of doing just that, though his voice echoes out of the bathroom: "Can you refold those clothes? Aint any good at that." His answer doesn't help, based on the way Faryn's expression falls. "She should understand. She's a rider. She can't...not." But they both know she can. Can and probably will. She only watches him go peripherally, glancing at the pile of clothes at his request and calling back, "I'll send a caverns girl. I'd rather...go." She does, adding, "Tell her to send for me, if she needs me when she gets back." Then she's gone. There's the sound of water, and it makes Drex come out to hear her properly, "But she'll wonder why--" but he's talking to himself. "For fuck's sake," he mutters, darkly, as much at himself as Faryn. He makes a really poor show of refolding the clothes, shoving them unevenly onto the pile, before he retreats back to the bathroom, muttering about his dick's future. |
Contents
Comments
Edyis (01:07, 5 September 2015 (PDT)) said...
-Jawdrops- Well then.
Alida (02:31, 5 September 2015 (PDT)) said...
Another bit of RP gold: "...I'll use the pools. For hours." (Hahahaha!) :)
Jo (09:08, 6 September 2015 (PDT)) said...
I loved this. HRW has a serious problem with pants not being kept on. It's becoming an epidemic!
Leave A Comment