Logs:The Opposite of Discouraging
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| RL Date: 31 July, 2013 |
| Who: H'vier, Tayte |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: After H'vier gets his ass kicked by a girl and loses Hraedhyth's flight, Tayte takes pity on him. Pity turns into something that only serves to reward the bronzerider's bad behavior. |
| Where: Living Cavern to Tayte's Room, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 23, Month 5, Turn 32 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Alida/Mentions, Azaylia/Mentions, Sisha/Mentions, Yvalia/Mentions, Z'ian/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: They have sex, with orgasms, on camera. It's adult, but not very graphic. Adult content, language and all that. |
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| Tayte's Room, High Reaches Weyr The peculiar shape of this room suggests that it was unintentionally expanded, cement holding the ceiling together towards the peculiarly shaped alcove build into the back corner. It's larger than most personal quarters as a result, and though the uneven walls mean nothing sits flush, there's plenty of room for more than the usual amount of furniture. The larger lobe of the lopsided kidney shape that the room has might be considered a studio room. A large bed is tucked into the roundest part of the alcove, though there's a gap behind where the straight headboard does not meet the wall. It's piled high with furs and pillows. In this curve there's also a wardrobe, a dresser, and nightstands. Hooks extending from the ceiling over the dresser have been rigged with two layered chain-link that holds a number of bottles of alcohol of different varieties. The highest drawer in the dresser which is bizarrely the largest locks with a key. Opposite it, closer to the door, is a hearth that's had a throw rug and loveseat set in front of it, along with a few low tables. A set of shelves and a small desk sit opposite the curve of the smaller end of the room. Around the curve and into the little lobe, one finds a great change. There's color everywhere instead of the muted things in the front half. Scarves and streamers hang from little hooks installed in the ceiling, their lengths varying, and a crib is set up in the middle with two small boxes that have toys poking out of their not-quite-shut lids. There's a tall table stocked with all the tools a mother needs (well, those that are safe to be at toddler height) and a small dresser and wardrobe. The furniture is all hand-me-downs but in decent enough condition to make the occupants comfortable.
It probably doesn't kill him. It's not so very, very long a walk that's then taken in silence. Into the Craft Complex and down one of the winding tunnels to a door. Tayte withdraws a key from her pocket and unlocking it, pushes it open, sliding through first. "Make yourself comfortable," She invites. "I'll get the booze and the ice." Comfortable will be H'vier sinking into the loveseat thing in front of the hearth with a relieved groan, head tilting back to rest as he slouches down as far as he dares and closes his eyes. He doesn't even bother looking around at the moment. "You're drinking, too, right?" "Of course. Have you ever known a vintner to refuse a drink without good reason?" Tayte's answer comes easily as she pulls a bottle down from the chain rack over the dresser, not really having to look to make her selection. She bends down to reach to the bottom drawer, a narrow thing, and pulls out glasses, a large cloth napkin, and a bottle opener. She makes quick work of the wax seal on the bottle before she moves across the room past the loveseat H'vier is settled on to a small metal box resting on top of a stand in one corner. The next task is the ice. Opening the box reveals a melting chunk that's fairly sizable; must be a recent delivery. She uses a pick to chip at it until glasses have been filled and the napkin too. She first delivers the drinks. It's strong, which is probably what H'vier cares about, though if his taste-buds are familiar, they'll taste tell him it's a whiskey of some sort. Fairly nice, but not top shelf. She then makes another trip to bring the make-shift icepack made from the napkin. "For your--" She glances down to his crotch. "Or wherever you need it most. I have to step out a few minutes to make an arrangement for my daughter." Responsible parenting at work! "Will you survive a few minutes alone?" It takes H'vier a few to actually lift his head back up to watch her, taking the drinks that she brings over with a brief smile of gratitude, lifting a cool glass to his temple after taking a small drink. He continues watching her as she makes the makeshift icepack and accepts that as well, nodding. "I think I can manage a couple minutes alone," he says, some humor in his voice. He'll wait until she's not standing there anymore to situate the ice on his crotch, though. He doesn't have to wait long. Once he's confirmed he won't keel over or be dressed up in her nightgown by the time she gets back, Tayte heads for the door, her movements graceful and with purpose. True to her word, she's not gone overly long. Just long enough to find one of her reliable apprentices to do an errand for her. Then she's back through the door and moving to claim her drink. By the time she gets back, H'vier hasn't moved even a little bit. At least not except for the pack he's holding over his sensitive bits. He's staring at the hearth, holding a glass in his other hand, rested against his thigh. He does look awfully pathetic. It might even be hard to remember he can be such a horrible asshole at times like these. "All good?" "Mmhm." She confirms, "They'll knock if there's a problem with my request." Tayte takes a moment, with drink in hand, to snag up the fire poker and nudge at the hearth before she sets her drink down again to fetch another two logs and put them on. Once that's done, she finally moves to settle onto the loveseat. She doesn't immediately take up her glass though, instead she's reaching down to slide off her boots. As she's bent, torso pressed to thighs to accomplish the task, she turns her face to look at H'vier, "I wouldn't want you to get the wrong idea about what usual treatment is here, but- if you'd be more comfortable, I can help you with your boots." One time offer. "Good," says the bronzerider, voice lacking enthusiasm in general but he's as sincere as he's liable to get right now. "If you could just get the laces, I'll kick them off. So long as you don't expect me to put them back on right away. Anyway, I'm hoping to get so drunk I don't remember anything that happened tonight." Not that that ever actually happens. He usually remembers too damned much. Once Tayte's are off, she's sliding easily from couch to floor. She has exceptionally nimble fingers as it happens, and it means that the lace-loosening takes almost no time at all. "I don't. You're welcome to stay." She rather expects him to now that she's made arrangements. "I would have thought after a day like today you might want to forget everything that's happened." She looks up to him from the floor as she finishes the laces on one boot. "It seems to me that you've had a pretty terrible afternoon." Although things are looking up, what with the booze, and the babe seeing to making him as comfortable as she can. The second boot's laces take no more time than the first and then she's rising and sliding back onto the loveseat to tuck her colorfully-socked feet under herself. Now she takes back her drink and sips it. With Tayte slipping to the floor, H'vier can't really help the flicker of too much interest that passes over his expression. But that's all it is. He doesn't say anything about it, just watches. Once his laces are loosened, he takes care of getting them off his feet. "I feel like you're being too nice to me," he points out after taking another drink. "I imagine most people would say I deserved it." Which means he's not completely oblivious to his 'charms.' "I'm not saying that I wouldn't say that." Tayte points out as she shifts a little, getting more comfortable. One hand reaches up to push through her loose golden locks, fingers distractedly staying to toy with the ends as she takes another sip. "Truth is, I might owe you. So let's call this working off my debt, if indeed I have one. I'm not looking to find out if I do. So just-- let me be nice to you, alright?" She leans toward him then, the proximity being a physical distraction from the topic at hand, intent ocean gaze examining his face from less than a foot away. "You've quite a bit of blood there. Would you let me wash your face?" She is a mother; it's a little in her nature to attempt to clean. Also, judging from the exceptionally tidy state of her room, she probably likes things clean. Perhaps a little unnaturally so. "You might owe me for what?" Because he can think of a lot of other ways she could pay off debts. Maybe not right this particular moment. And maybe only a couple of things. But you get the idea. H'vier is easily distracted, though, and it's not just because she's closer to him. Anticipation can be a double-edged sword. "Sure. I guess. Just be... careful?" Gentle might not be a word he's comfortable using when he's talking about himself and women touching him. He holds a finger up to finish off a glass before nodding. "For being your usual charming self." The one that sleeps with a woman and never thinks twice about if the baby she's pregnant with some months later is his. Tayte's smile qualifies as mysterious, but there's something genuine there. After all, if, in fact, he did father her much cherished child, shouldn't she be grateful? At least enough to tend to some of his wounds and get him drunk? That's exactly what she seems to be setting about. She downs the rest of her drink and rises, setting it on the side-table where she's left the bottle in H'vier's reach while she goes to the vanity where there's a washing basin. There's some other things to be done. The kettle on the fire to warm the water, and then with basin, clean rags and towels all deposited on a low table she pulls in front of the loveseat, she resumes her seat to wait. "Is Reisoth alright?" She asks in the meantime. The bronzerider watches while she does what she needs to do, topping his glass off to take another drink. What she says doesn't make much sense to him but he's long since resigned himself to women not making any sense at all. While he watches, there's another tentative feel around his nose, making sure things are at least where they should be. But she'd have told him if it was all fucked up, right? His legs move apart slightly, unconsciously, when she sits down. Force of habit. "Yeah, he's fine. Little pissed off about us not being Weyrleader again. 'Specially since the bastard that won is the bastard that kept us from winning last time. Not his fault this time, though." "Mm, I can see how that would be frustrating," comes the blonde's soft response. She's forgotten her drink on that end table. The one on the other side of the bronzerider. She starts to lean, not thinking about it in this space that has her comfortable. Tayte doesn't even seem to realize that she might be inappropriately close for expecting the man to behave until she's reached her torso across him, leaning one hand on the far armrest while she pours from the bottle into her glass. Then she realizes, and freezes. There's a blush on her cheeks and her start to withdraw is much more careful as she recognizes the vulnerable position she's put herself in with a predator such as H'vier so near. "Next time," says H'vier with obvious distraction in his voice with her leaning over him. There's even a hand that moves up to touch her side. It's light, though, hesitant because of his injury more than because she might object, probably. Fortunately she can't know that so maybe she'll just think he's behaving properly when he lets her withdraw without resistance. "Next time we won't be out of the Weyr. Bad timing." Tayte may not have realized she was holding her breath as she withdrew, but her exhale comes a little stronger than usual as she sits back with drink in hand. maybe she even thought he was trying to help steady her as she leaned back to her own seat. "You mean, next time you won't pick a fight or next time you won't let it be known that your respect for women is limited to their talents on their knees?" The question is delivered with extreme innocence. Almost as though she was asking him whether he preferred sunny days or cloudy. The slight curl of the edge of her lips shows that there's humor there, though, so it doesn't seem that she's trying to pick a fight with him on top of everything else he's been through tonight. "Next time we'll keep a closer eye on Hraedhyth and be here when she rises." That's really all that H'vier can promise this far out. "And I respect women for more than their talents on their knees. Some of them are brilliant on their backs. Or pushed up against a wall with their legs around me." Surprisingly, he's just about as casual as she is when he talks about the various states in which he respects women. He even lifts his glass slightly before taking another drink. Cheers. Her lips press together and shoulders shake in silent laughter. It takes Tayte a moment before she can look at the bronzerider again. Her eyes shine her amusement in the low light of the room from the hearthfire and dimmed glowbaskets. "So, how would you handle your new Weyrwoman who flew with a fighting wing?" Azaylia and her warrior queen don't exactly qualify as the most traditional version of Weyrwomen. But she's genuinely asking the question. She gets one more sip in before she's rising to fetch the hot water and pour it carefully into the basin. "Reisoth can deal with Hraedhyth. Azaylia is just another woman. Her job is to take care of the Weyr, not to fuck with the wings." But this is starting to sound like it's not really something H'vier wants to be talking about the day that he's been denied dealing with the Weyrwoman and her gold on more equal terms. He doesn't say anything else, just takes another drink and closes his eyes while she fetches the water. Tayte leaves the subject, and talk entirely. The blonde focuses on wetting a rag and ringing it out, touching it first to her cheek to make sure it's not too hot, and then she turns toward the bronzerider. For this task, she opts for turning all the way around on the loveseat, her front faced to its back and sliding up next to H'vier, though not pressing against, of course, though her thigh does seem to have found its way to touching alongside his. "Hold still," She advises. Her hands are gentle as she tends to the worst areas first, and the small lacerations. The dimness requires she get a little closer with her face so she can see what she's doing, so she does. He's not exactly a stranger to getting his face cleaned off of blood. Most of the time, though, it's him or a healer doing the dirty work. For now H'vier just clears his throat, keeping his eyes closed for a few moments longer before he's opening them again and doing his best not to look awkward with her closer and his eyes open. Casual interaction with females in private isn't really one of his strong points. She has to shift away to re-wet the rag a few times but returns each time. It's probably not the most pleasant thing to be on the receiving end of, but Tayte's hand is extra careful when she gets to the nose, avoiding what's bound to be the most sensitive parts and more cleaning around it than touching it. Her eyes drift over his face one more time and then she's turning around to put the rag away, although perhaps curiously she stays closer than not. "Almost all prettied up again." She announces, twisting around to smile at him. Prettied up except for the bruising that's surely coming along. H'vier doesn't complain about anything. There's only a wince here and there once she gets to his nose, but no actual flinching. And when she's done with the rag put away, he takes another drink and smiles at her while he sets both the glass and the ice pack for his crotch to the side. "Thanks, gorgeous. Probably would've stayed there till sometime tomorrow if not for you." Not that he'd probably care that much if it had considering that he'd have just drunk himself into a stupor either way. With his hands free now, he moves an arm to try snaking around her waist. "The whiskey works pretty good. You make it yourself?" The blonde doesn't resist the arm that slides around her waist, but it does receive a glance, one that's thoughtful, but not exactly discouraging. She draws her gaze back to his face. "Well, that didn't seem like a fitting end to the evening for our next Weyrleader." Tayte says it with a straight face. She can't possibly want that for the Weyr, but rest-assured she plays poker with the best of them. There's a touch of amusement to her tone, but also a little sympathy. "One of the men in my apprentice class made it. Whiskey's not my specialty. Vintners make the best friends though, you end up with all kinds of wonderful brews just lying around." The lack of resistance is practically permission as far as a man like H'vier is concerned. Though he's moving a little slow after getting his nose, and other things, beaten in and drinking that whiskey so fast. He's not usually much of a lightweight but maybe some of Reisoth's exhaustion is getting to his rider as well. "Give him my regards. And maybe his name. I might need to get some of that to stock my weyr. When I get back." His hand doesn't go touching anything too personal too fast but it does slide up her back, pressing encouragingly toward him. Maybe he wants a kiss. Or some of her in his lap. He maybe hasn't thought that through very well. "Next time I see him, I will." If she remembers. It's a stock response, a roll of her slender shoulders dismissing it. There's something more pressing to tend to now: the movement of the hand. She leans with the press, but not too close. "Havi," She murmurs, lashes fluttering slowly over her blue eyes as she gazes at him in a look that is not at all as discouraging as any non-disgrace to womankind should be giving. If anything, it's almost an invitation. "In a minute, you're going to remember just how painful it would be to use your cock. Once feeling returns to it with the rush of blood that's probably starting to head that way." Proximity. Breasts. It's not hard to guess the eventual ending here. "Maybe you should just enjoy your drink." But she's not exactly pulling away from him either. "Think I can live through the pain to get to the pleasure," he says like he's totally done this before. The fucking with kicked in junk, not the fucking in general. "Might even help. Blood is healing, you know. Fuck, you're gorgeous." The last seems to be a thought slipping past his lips more than some attempt at a pick up line. Maybe he should actually try that more often because it sounds a lot more sincere. His hand at her back pulls a little more firmly for a moment, like he's working through something internal, then it relaxes and he tilts his head back before reaching in the direction of his glass to finish off what's in that. "Maybe I should go, yeah? Appreciate your help, though, darling." There are more than a million reasons to just agree with H'vier and send the bronzerider on his way. Not the least of which was that her whole original intention had been to get him drunk enough to pass out and move on with things, or that after his bad behavior tonight, fucking him would only reinforce it. And there's others. There's probably even a little voice just screaming in protest as Tayte catches her breath, indecisive a moment before she's leaning the rest of the distance and pressing her soft lips to his in a heated kiss. There's obviously still some lust at work in the woman - flight-spurred or otherwise. She pulls her lips away almost as swiftly as she brought them, but remains close, breath suddenly quick. "Maybe you should." She murmurs, blush showing under her freckles on her cheeks. Whatever intentions H'vier had of leaving sort of evaporate when Tayte's lips touch his. He matches that heat and might have exceeded it had his evening been a little different. Then again, it could have been Tayte that caught his eye in the living cavern rather than the devil woman and things might have at least been a little less violent. Fortunately violence is not on H'vier's mind at the moment and when she pulls back, he gives a low groan of protest. "That what you want? You want me to go?" He doesn't really sound like he believes that's the case now. Yes! Tell him yes! Part of her urges, the struggle momentarily slipping across her face. But rather than make answer - rather than have to admit out loud that, no, she doesn't really want that, Tayte leans back into the kiss, her arms moving to slip around his neck. She doesn't waste time on prim kissing; this isn't a date. It's not even a romantic interlude. Her lips slide open almost immediately, inviting his tongue as she pulls herself closer and closer until her torso is pressed against his. That's much better. So much better. H'vier's arm slides slightly to try pulling her more properly into his lap. Or to straddle his lap. He's probably not very picky about how she's close to him right now so long as she's close. His tongue isn't shy as he kisses her, exploring her mouth in a way he has very little recollection of doing before. His beard scratches at her softer skin and his other hand finds her thigh even as he rumbles through the discomfort of blood rushing to necessary places for the things he has in mind. Maybe she can console herself later with the fact that it hurt him to make good on his plans; the ones she initiated. Tayte could stay feeling torn, but if she is going to reap the consequences of an action, she might as well enjoy it, so with a little throaty sound that might be a growl or a moan she mentally sloughs off that side of herself that is so not okay with this. It makes her all the more enthusiastic, all the more encouraging and reinforcing of his movements. She lets herself be encouraged this time, not ceasing the way her tongue runs along his and returns the urgent kiss, as she slides over his lap to straddle him, her slender body pressing even closer. She can definitely console herself over his pain later. But his pain isn't really that discouraging to him. And at least it's become obvious that the whiskey isn't impairing his ability to follow through on the inevitable end of all this kissing. H'vier leans up slightly, gripping Tayte's hip with one hand to rock her against his pelvis. That move probably usually feels better for him than it does right now and he growls a sound of frustrating before his hands are moving to unfasten his pants and give himself a little more freedom to, uh, grow. The rock has Tayte gasping, her lips pulling away and head tossing back, her spine arching her breasts right up into H'vier's face. He'd barely need to move an inch to touch his nose to them, though they're still swathed in the black shirt that doesn't display what is certainly ample cleavage below. She doesn't stay long in that position, though, because his hands are moving to his belt and she's scrambling off him. It might seem like things have suddenly gone south for H'vier's plans, but the sound of the woman's own belt being loosed might put him at ease. Pants, especially of the tight leather variety, aren't the kinds of thing that are easy to get off when straddling someone. They might need to have words if Tayte was going to put a halt to things now. But H'vier doesn't seem very worried about that and, since she gets off of him, he can be a little bit more thorough about getting rid of some of his clothes, baring his torso and pushing his pants down so he can kick them off, all while watching just what Tayte is doing. "Don't be shy, gorgeous," he encourages, voice a little heated. Not that she's being shy. But just in case she doesn't think he's interested enough or something, even if his interest is pretty obvious and on display at this point. Even if he's stroking it slowly with his fingertips. H'vier might have left the room with a simple experience. A straightforward, relatively foreplay-less fuck, as it were. Just to get their mutual rocks off. But then he opens his mouth. It makes the blonde freeze. If she's doing the damned deed, she might as well play the devil. Tayte has her back to him, and when she turns her head to look at him over her shoulder, the look is openly wanton - exactly what he would expect of a willing woman in his wildest fantasies. It's probably that look that so many women don't live up to because there are simply not enough women around that fit with exactly what H'vier expects of one (or seems to). Her mouth opens but only to trace her lips with her tongue tip, teasing. In the meantime, her belt is withdrawn oh-so-slowly, held aloft and then dropped to the throw rug underfoot. Peeling the tight pants off is a show in of itself, revealing red silken panties. She twists around to face him as she's pulling her top off, a matching red and black thing cupping her curves. "Is that good for you, baby?" She asks in a sultry alto. It's all so much together that he might get the inkling that she's toying with him now. This is probably one of those most laid back post-flight experiences H'vier has has the pleasure of partaking in thanks to getting his ass kicked and then the booze. But for Tayte it means that he's not quite so desperate to get himself off that he can enjoy the fact that a gorgeous woman is taking her clothes off for him. It doesn't matter if she's toying with him or not. They're still coming off. "Perfect," he murmurs, fingers gone still on his cock while he watches. "But I think I prefer you over here where I can touch you." Because he apparently doesn't want to move to touch her. That's just silly. The smile that spread on Tayte's lips at his words is downright saucy. She moves, but stays just out of reach. "As it happens, I care about my upholstery and my rug. So if you want to fuck me, it'll be over there somewhere." She nods towards the other half of the large curved room: the bed is the obvious choice. She turns away again, bending over to collect her glass which might put her ass in grabbing distance if not enough to get a good grip. She straightens to down the rest before moving toward the bed. And he'll just have to follow if he wants more. Perhaps the fact that she begins unhooking her bra and stepping out of her panties on the way might be motivation enough. H'vier reaches out to grab her right as she starts moving away but she slips out of his reach before he can make contact. It draws him to his feet, though, and he follows her like an obedient dog. Granted one that's pretty set on humping more than her leg. He makes a pleasant sound as she unhooks her bra and as she gets to her bed, he's right there behind her to wrap his arms around her. One hand moves to splay across her stomach and the other rises toward a breast as he presses himself up against her. "You're not worried about the bed, are you? We could use the wall if you want. Or the floor." The woman tenses for a moment as she's caught up in his muscular arms. Surely at least once before she had opportunity to appreciate just how well muscled the bronzerider is, but now she recognizes it and appreciates it anew with a small gasp. Tayte's head turns and tilts up toward him. "Gentleman's choice. You can take me any which way you want me," She's got to be kidding with this, though it sounds so sexy and sincere. "Just you see to it that I get mine by the time you get yours." It's a fair requirement. Tit for tat if it's about getting rocks off. He tilts his head toward her neck to brush his lips and scruffy face against the sensitive skin there. "I promise you'll get yours before I get mine or I won't get it at all." Which might be complete bullshit but it sounds nice when it's said out loud, doesn't it? "I think I want to see just how nice you ride, though, sweetheart. I know you're a dragonrider in your own right, aren't you." Yeah, he just said that. He just said that and he's not even ashamed about it. H'vier kisses her neck but he lets her go so he can move around to sit on the edge of the bed. He doesn't move back right away, take a moment to grab her ass and kiss the soft curve of her belly with a heated rumble of a groan. The kiss to her belly proves to be problematic. Chiefly, because as soon as he said that there was a moment's delay in which her neck was kissed and then she busted out laughing. Her arms curl across her middle, her whole body is engaged in laughter. Were it not for him grabbing her ass and pulling her nearer, she probably would have doubled over. As is, Tayte uses H'vier's shoulders as support. "How the fuck do you expect me to take you seriously when you say shit like that?" Though usually fairly clean in her language choices - she is a mother, after all - the swearing rolls right off her tongue naturally. She looks down at the bronzerider, trying to gauge if ego suffered a blow from her mirth. "Are you supposed to take me seriously when my dick is flopping around and we're both naked?" Okay, maybe not flopping but it's definitely out there. And, let's face it, penises look kind of funny when you think about it too much. His ego is pretty unruffled and instead of waiting for her to start taking him seriously, H'vier puts his hands around her waist and rises to lift her up and not quite toss her on the bed with him following close behind to settle where he fits so nicely between her thighs. "So I should just stop talking?" A smile and raised shoulder concedes his point. The half-squeak that sneaks out of her when he lifts her and tosses her down on the bed is one of delight. How can a bronzerider be so wrong, and yet be so right? This must be why he ever gets laid. "Shhhh," is all Tayte says, moving her head to occupy his lips briefly with a kiss. Her hands move, sliding first down her torso and then up his. Such nice muscles. "Do you really need to talk to make me scream?" She wonders. Maybe it's part of his tactic. No more talking. But it's obvious that H'vier likes the way her hand sliding over his skin feels and the way he returns her kiss holds a newly aroused urgency. He hold himself up on one elbow and his free hand slips down to touch her, before he's lining himself up like he's teasing her. But, really, he wants her too much to keep that up for long so if she does nothing to stop him, he'll just slide home with a groan against her lips. There's more where that came from. It might be a carryover from the tender side of her she'd been showing him as she tended to his wounds, but Tayte's hands are deft at creating pleasure as they slide and drag along his skin. She'll use her nails here and there, but surely he's had enough violence for one night. Things do seem to happen so quickly though, and the touch of tool to her tool-sized-slot has her gasping and then it's done: he's buried. That's a slot that's been nearly four turns vacant of any such tool, so there's some discomfort on her part - discomfort that probably is the exact opposite for H'vier. H'vier is a physical person. Her touching him goes a long way. But he pauses once he's buried inside of her, maybe realizing she's not completely comfortable or maybe he's just enjoying how tight she feels around him. The first roll of his hips his experimental, gentle, judging her response. But after that, there's a little more enthusiasm, a little more urgency despite his promise not to finish before her. But his focus isn't so centered that he can't touch her, a hand sliding up her side and around to a breast. That makes two of them that respond to touch. Something in common at last! Besides the whole current contact of sex organs. The touch helps her relax. He's not talking now, so Tayte can enjoy him, feeling his muscles. Not so much looking at his face because it's all busted and less pretty than usual, but her eyes do flicker up to meet his occasionally. She's expressive and enthusiastic in her own way. Expressions and sounds might be deemed both complimentary and possibly comedic at moments. But maybe it's not so funny in context. He's not the only one who'll rock hips, her legs curling around his back for a time, before they slide away and she's murmuring, "I think I want to be a dragonrider after all." One hand pushing his shoulder, encouraging him to roll them. H'vier? He's a man. He's kind of just happy that he's getting to do this in the first place. The fact that Tayte is hot makes it that much better. He's also pretty fond of breasts and he's still kind of distracted by hers when she speaks. The bronzerider looks up, maybe not entirely sure she's being serious. But when it's clear that she does want him to move, he grins. "Yes, ma'am," he says like he might say to his wingleader if he had a shred of respect for her and he's moving an arm under Tayte to hold her against him so there's less chance of him sliding out while he shifts them around to put her on top. "There you go, respecting my important skills," Tayte answers, her alto light with humor. This comes once they're situated. "If only you could be this well behaved when you weren't buried cunt-deep." She says wistfully, timing the words for just as she's sliding away and then dropping her hips carefully back to their original position. After that she quiets down because she's not gotten hers yet and that needs tending to. Being on top provides H'vier a real show. Probably because she felt it unlikely that he'd be following through with their agreement without help. "Make yourself useful and do something good with these," She nods down to her breasts, only moments after she's started. "Maybe I just need the right incentive," he says, though it's clear he's not putting a ton of thought into what he's saying. Not with the way his breath comes out a little ragged as she drops down along the length of him. He doesn't try to keep some sort of conversation going, though, more than content to watch her as she moves and reach for her breasts obediently. Only one hand lingers there, the other slipping down to help the motion of her hips unconsciously - whether it's actually helpful or not. It becomes more helpful as Tayte becomes more distracted. The rhythm gets uneven and her vocalizations are not even close to helping make a song, but they are ensuring that as her body contracts, H'vier has completed his contractual obligation and can now seek his own pleasure. Not that she's unwilling to help. If she wanted to make it up to the women she betrayed by getting with him, she'd slide off now and have done with it. But she doesn't. Apparently, it's true what she told H'vier: she's nice. And she's being nice to him. The contractions as she comes nearly have the bronzerider following right along if the sound (and face) he makes and the way he bucks his hips up against her are any indication. Fortunately, for him at least, the pause as she collapses against him is enough to give him a moment to breath and draw back from the edge he was so close to. Once she seems good with moving again, though, he does. He's rolling them back around with her under him so he can take matters into his own hands. So to speak. The bronzerider might have been holding back before compared to how much he's not now, head tucked down toward her chest and earnest thrusting meant only to bring him back to that edge. And right over it with a low groan as he tries to find some new depth in her he hasn't reached quite yet before finally going still, breathing hard. As it happens, the renewed vigor and speed that have him spending himself, coax Tayte into one more orgasm of her own. She's hardly begun to recover from her own though, when he finds his, and so they're both still and breathing hard for moments after. Before he can move too much, though, Tayte's hands are touching his back, his neck, his hair, just gently caressing. It's not a particularly romantic thing by any means, it's just a further expression of her satisfaction. After it's all over, her touch doesn't do much to encourage him to get the hell off. His weight settles over her a little more heavily, holding himself up only with an elbow for the moment, and only just. "I think I might remember this," he murmurs once he's caught his breath a little better, resting his head kind of against her breast where it's nice and oh so comfortable. "Finally? You remember my breasts too?" Tayte's inquiry is soft, but there's a little laugh that comes with her words. Her hands aren't trying to encourage him off. If anything, she seems to be enjoying the press of skin to skin. She even tilts her head to press a kiss to the top of his. "If you'd like to stay the night, we can try to jog your memory again later." In for a thirty-second piece, in for a whole mark. She already made arrangements for Vali, and there's been no knock to tell her they went amiss. "Definitely your breasts. They're very nice. Amazing, even," H'vier practically nuzzles himself against them as though to emphasize this point. "Mmm, I like the way you think, doll. And feel. I like the way you feel." He will, in due time, slip off to the side so he doesn't, you know, crush her or anything. And he's liable to doze off for a bit, too. But that's just something guys do, right? Not just him? Fortunately, H'vier's busy nuzzling when Tayte winces. It's not his touch, it's his compliments, or more specifically what it means. It means that: "You're my first since Vali was born," She's not normally a sharer this way, but maybe the temporary intimacy created by the acts they've just carried out is loosening her tongue. "She's four." If that helps him count back the turns to the last time they did this, or more relevantly, the reason she's owed such high compliments. "You should feel honored or something." It's said with a little yawn of her own. She's a snuggler. Which is different than a cuddler. Cuddlers are the ones that actively want the cuddles. Snugglers just press themselves close and get comfy for the sleep that's too come. It might be only late afternoon, but it's already been a long day. If their words are anything to go by, it's going to be a pleasantly longer night. So long as H'vier doesn't talk too much. He's not going to do the math right now. But it might occur to him later, once he's gone. When he's back at Cold Butte with nothing to do but think about everything that went wrong today. And everything that's gone right. H'vier doesn't seem sure how to respond to her telling him that he's her first in that long so in the end he smiles. "Lucky. Can I feel lucky instead?" He's already sounding half-asleep when he says it. "Yeah," Another yawn from Tayte as she adjusts, draping one leg over his, cheek to his chest. "That's truer anyway. Not like this is how I thought my day would go." It could just as easily be him saying these words. But there are no more words now, only sleep and snuggles. |
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