Logs:Turnover Truths
| |
|---|
| |
| RL Date: 14 June, 2014 |
| Who: G'laer, Oliwer |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: G'laer has a romantic turnover gift for Oli. Oli wants to accept it. Only, there's a problem or three. |
| Where: Bookworm's Paradise Weyr (G'laer & Oliwer's), High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 28, Month 13, Turn 34 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Aseana/Mentions, Gaelan/Mentions, H'vier/Mentions, Leara/Mentions, Tayte/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: Aaaangst. Adult themes. A little violence. Altcestuous talk. Back-dated. |
  |
| Turnover is usually G'laer's least favorite time of the turn, but with Gaelan and Leara now living 'with him' in the Weyr, instead of having to spend Turnover eve and Turnover day with Aseana and the kids, all he had to do was drop them off at One Rock. It's handy that this turn coincides with the first turnover he's with Oliwer. It's nice to spend these sorts of things with the people (or in his case, person) that one loves. There was discussion of going out, or of going south for an overnight, or doing something particularly unusual, but it was eventually concluded that both would be quite content just to stay in with one another. Effort was made, however, to get a special meal with baked goods picked up from BakerCraft and some fruits from down South to tide them over so they wouldn't need to make excursions back out until at least midday on the following day. With dinner done, it's time to crack open the second bottle of Oliwer's favorite wine. Once they both have glasses in hand, Oli in his chair and G'laer moving to lay on the thick rug before the hearth, as is his custom, the greenrider poses the question, "Making any Turnover resolutions this turn?" It is definitely still Oliwer's favorite wine, even after practically almost killing the man he loves. That's devotion right there. The healer drinks and watches his weyrmate while he sits in his chair. What could possibly be better than this nice, quiet evening? Possibly Oliwer not watching G'laer quite so closely, no doubt wondering how anyone could be afraid of him. It baffles the mind. "I hadn't really thought about it, I suppose. Drink more fantastic wine? Does that count?" G'laer might've noticed. The way he's probably noticed several times before. He doesn't ask now as he didn't then. Maybe he hasn't sorted just exactly what the look means yet. "That's a good one." The greenrider is supportive, and smiling. He shifts so lay on his side, head supported with a hand, upper arm braced on the ground, his wine held in the other in front of him. "I'm going to plant more herbs on the ledge." Starting simple. That's easiest. "Oh?" Oliwer's interest there is sincere, if not for the most obvious of reasons. "That's a good one, too. Any in particular? I suppose I could branch out into other wines. But it's easy to settle once you've found something you like." The healer has a warm sort of smile for that. "Just a few of the more difficult to find ones. They're harder to grow as well, but I'm sure I'll manage somehow." Or he won't. Plants do what they want. G'laer sips at his wine, "I don't mind making the trips into the mountains in Crom to get the ones I need, but now I have less time to do that in, because I have more things," people, person really, "that I'd rather do when I have a day or two off." His smile is fond in answer as he looks up at the healer. "No reason to change if you like what you have," is his answer for that. "Though variety can make things more interesting sometimes." Oliwer rises with his glass, reaching for the bottle to bring it with him as he moves closer to where G'laer is lounging on the rug so he can join him. He left his chair. This is clearly a great honor. "I was starting to think this was a euphemism for us. I don't know if I want any outside variety brought into that." He's sort of teasing, but there's a certain truth in there. "But I'll admit I've enjoyed our variety." That was probably a given. Oliwer lifts the bottle, silently asking if the greenrider wants more. It's only a few more sips to finish the wine already in his glass so G'laer does that before extending the glass for more. Since this is their second bottle of the night, the greenrider must be a little buzzed already, but that doesn't stop him. They're not going anywhere tonight, so why not? "I never said anything about outside variety. I was talking about our variety." He shifts on the rug a little so Oli can get more comfortable. "I got you something, for turnover." Some sips later he's setting the glass aside so he can twist to reach under the small holder for the wood for the hearth. Apparently, this was his hiding spot of choice. He withdraws a palm-sized square, wrapped in a scrap of colorful fabric and tied with twine, which he then offers to the healer. Wine is poured and the bottle is set aside. Not far, but far enough not to get accidently knocked over without some work. "In that case, I agree. Unexpectedly interesting." Unexpected like the news that his weyrmate got him something for turnover. It makes him look oddly guilty as the gift is offered, Oliwer glancing at the other man's face. "G'laer." Look, he's touched and he hasn't even opened it yet. When he does, pulling out the ring inside and peering at the inscription, he says much the same and looks a little like he might tear up. "Oh, G'laer. I love it." "They say turnover is a time for new beginnings." The greenrider must have had this planned some part of what he says now, because it's too smooth for an off-the-cuff G'laer. "Only, I don't want to make a new beginning. Just to make better what we've already begun. I don't expect you'll be able to wear it at work, nor I, with mine," because somehow there ended up a matching one on his finger? Slick, sneaky G'laer. "But when we're at home, or out, if we like. I thought it might be nice. To have something. Something physical, I mean. To bind us together. Even if we never did any of that fancy ceremony stuff some people do." Nope, tears are coming now. But they're happy tears. Mostly happy. More happy than anything else. Oliwer looks at the ring that G'laer's wearing, reaching out for the greenrider's hand to turn it around on his finger before he's holding the other man's hand and leaning forward to kiss him. It's a tender kiss but he draws back after a moment to look at his own ring again. He still hasn't put it on. "It's perfect, G'laer." But he's clearly torn. G'laer's eyes follow after returning the kiss. He looks from the ring to the man it was intended for. "Are you sure? Because you're not putting it on." Observant, even with this much wine. He's sitting up then and leaning toward the healer. "We can always get the smiths to fix it if it doesn't fit. Or are you worried about what people will think?" His tone has a touch of concern, but it's not overly strong. Wine makes G'laer relaxed. At least in this much quantity, it does. "I'm sure," Oliwer is quick to say. He starts to put it on his finger, glancing between the ring and G'laer. Then he stops, closing his hand around it instead. It's not like he's giving it back or anything. But his next words don't really match the moment. "There are poisons in your herbs, G'laer." The greenrider's brow furrows. It's the look of one trying to divine exactly where something is going without nearly enough information. So a moment later he's saying, "Yeees?" leaving the 'and?' unspoken. Oliwer frowns, maybe rethinking bringing this up at all. But he asks, "Are you... Are you using them? Now?" "Not recently." But what is recently, really? At least the answer sounds honest enough, and the greenrider doesn't seem to have a problem with the topic. G'laer reaches for his wine, but that's probably just because it's there, and delicious. "How recently? Do you plan on using them?" Has he been drinking as much as G'laer? Oliwer sounds pretty intense for a man that's been helping drink two bottles of his favorite wine. He does, doesn't he? G'laer's head tilts slightly to one side, and he looks at Oliwer, expression thoughtful. "I donno." Maybe he really doesn't. "Months at least." Not that that's much more specific. "Depends probably on which ones you mean." He sips the wine. "I plan on using them if I need to use them." Does that answer the question? No? Maybe it's the wine. Maybe G'laer's not intentionally being evasive. He's still frowning. In part because he's not really sure how to continue. G'laer is entirely better at answering questions than Oliwer is at asking them. "I mean the ones that can hurt people. The ones that can kill people. Why do you have those?" That should probably be pretty obvious for Oliwer to answer himself. But their presence clearly makes him uncomfortable. "Why do you think I have those?" G'laer returns after a thoughtful sip of his wine. "Where is this coming from?" is a second question Oliwer has earned from the greenrider. His demeanor continues to be relaxed, not defensive, just-- he's too practiced at turning the tables; it just comes naturally to him now when the opportunity is presented. "It doesn't matter where it's coming from. It matters that you--" Oliwer stops, opening his hand to look at the ring he's still holding. Whether it helps or not is debatable. "Someone warned me that you were dangerous. I know," he begins, "that you've told me... things." He glances up to meet the greenrider's eyes. "But they were afraid. Really afraid." And it's been bothering him. G'laer watches, silent, still. Then he sips. And sips. And then the glass is empty and he sets it aside to push up onto his feet. Maybe he just doesn't know what to say. "Maybe I should go." Where? Why? Who knows. Maybe it's just because he can't deny any of it. "What? No," says Oliwer, voice firm. He's not okay with him just leaving. He's rising, too, reaching for G'laer's arm. "You're staying here. Talk to me." G'laer's eyes fall to the hand on his arm, but he doesn't do anything about it, just looks for a long moment. Then his eyes rise to meet Oliwer's. "What do you want me to say that would be true? You know I won't lie to you." Omit, sure, but he's tried not to lie in any case. Not even when the truth is hard. "I am dangerous. Some people have good reason to be afraid of me. You don't." For whatever that's worth. "I don't know," Oliwer admits. It's difficult to be both uncomfortable with things about the person you love and desperately want to accept them for who they are. He tries really hard to do the latter. "I'm not afraid of you. I trust you. More than anyone. But it's unnerving to meet people who are afraid for their lives. People who I can't possibly imagine having any reason to be." G'laer's lips form a hard line now. Now that he's put it together. "She told you I came to see her." It's not a question. "What did she say?" Oliwer could deny it. But he's not in the best position to be lying right now. Sometimes he's not horrible at it. This just isn't one of those times. "She told me not to tell you. Because she thinks that you'll hurt her. But you won't." The last is kind of demanding, considering its source. The hard line is still there as G'laer gazes down at Oliwer in stony silence. Oliwer manages to hold G'laer's gaze. Mostly. There's an uncertainty in it, but no fear. "What did you do to her to make her so afraid of you?" Still no agreement to the demand but, "It's not what I did to her. It's what I did for her." "What did you do for her, then?" Maybe Oliwer just assumes that since he told G'laer not to hurt her, he'll just listen to him. "An unofficial job. That she had the misfortune of accidentally seeing me do." Witnesses are a danger. So perhaps that explains it all, without almost any details. And Oliwer might not want more details, even if he's been asking all of these questions. "She didn't tell me anything about you. She only told me to be careful. She's a good person, G'laer." Just like he's a good person? "She was only worried about me." "You are not any of her business." G'laer answers without thinking. He's clearly an expert in this sort of thing. That or maybe he's more jealous than he lets on. "And she is none of yours." Oliwer responds in much the same way. "I don't care what you do to her weyrmate." That's probably not entirely true. "But leave her be." "She's not?" G'laer demands, abruptly angered, his hand moving to his hips. "The woman screws my weyrmate and she's none of my business?" The anger makes Oliwer hesitate for a moment. "No. It's over. Done. There's no chance that it will ever happen again. You've scared her. What more business of yours does she need to be?" G'laer doesn't answer in words. Instead he growls at Oli, an irritated sound, and stalks toward the bed. Maybe that means Oliwer is winning. Oliwer is probably just glad that it's the bed G'laer stalks toward and not the ledge. He watches for a moment, then moves to follow. What else is he going to do? He doesn't crowd the greenrider, staying a few paces away. "I'm sorry, G'laer." The greenrider sits hard on the edge of the bed. "Teisyth wanted me to feel things again. Well, great, here we are. Guess what! I feel things about the woman who fucked the love of my life after a stupid fucking gold flight." The things he feels are obvious in his heated tone. "I don't want you to not feel things," says Oliwer, tentatively closing the distance to stand in front of the greenrider. "I just don't want those things to be hurting people who have made mistakes. A mistake you almost made. A mistake I've been hurt for. I'm as much at fault as she is. Do you feel the same things about me?" G'laer's fingers flex on his knees, knuckles starting to whiten. There's only one part of Oliwer's words that he readily responds to. "I can't feel the same things about you. That would be too dangerous." His expression is as tight as his lips. "It's easier to feel it about her because I don't give a shit about her." So much for warm fuzzies. "I give a shit about her." In the sense that Oliwer gives a shit about everyone as a human being rather than anything particular personal. Except that it might be a little more personal than any other random person because he knows her name, he's seen her fear. The healer kneels down, then, and that ring is in his fingers again. He glances up at G'laer as he slips it on, then reaches out to touch one of those white-knuckled hands on the greenrider's knee. The greenrider watches his lover with narrowed eyes. It's not quite a glare, but it's on its way to becoming one. He watches the man's face when he speaks, watches him kneel, watches the ring and the hand moving to touch him, all without moving his head. "You don't have that right." His voice is dark, bordering on threatening, but managing to stay just barely into sternly matter-of-fact. Oliwer's gaze shifts down to G'laer's hand as his own settles against it. "I do," he insists. Which is a little easier because he's not looking at the greenrider's face. "I have every right to care about people. And, if anything happens to her, what do you think will happen to me? If you hurt her, you might as well be doing it to me anyway." He still doesn't look up, fingering the ring G'laer wears, but his voice is earnest, almost pleading. "You don't." G'laer disagrees, but not politely. "You fucked her. You put her in this position. You don't have the right to care what happens to her now." The greenriders hands are so tightly flexed there's no color left in his knuckles now. That stings. It hurts in a way Oliwer might like even less than getting punched in the face by a huge bronzerider. And the pain is likely to be more lasting. The healer only looks at G'laer as he pushes himself back up to standing. When he speaks, he still sounds hurt. But it's oddly willful for Oliwer. "Then it's my responsibility to keep her safe." G'laer grinds his teeth and gazes darkly at Oliwer. Oliwer is a grown ass man. He should at least be able to meet that gaze and hold it. But it's really hard. "I don't want you to be angry. This was supposed to be a good night." "What do you want me to say?" G'laer unlocks his jaw long enough to ask. "I don't know." Oliwer lifts a hand, apparently intending on touching G'laer's face with a tender brush of the backs of his fingers. G'laer doesn't move anything but his eyes which watch. Oliwer leans down. His fingers caress the greenrider's cheek before shifting to cup his jaw. He hesitates before kissing G'laer, but withdraws just enough to speak when he meets still lips. "You can take it out on me. If you need to. I love you." The greenrider's voice is suddenly rough with a completely different kind of emotion, "No." Just that. No. "It's okay," Oliwer murmurs, pressing another, more comforting kiss to G'laer's lips whether he returns it or not. "No." It comes after the kiss that wasn't returned, again. But then he's in motion after so much stillness. G'laer proves in the next ten seconds why he is a dangerous man, why people are afraid of him. If Oliwer could slow time down, he could do a ten count identifying each step of the way from G'laer sitting on the edge of the bed with Oliwer in front of him to where they end with Oliwer bent forward over the bed, one of his arms pulled up behind him, with G'laer's weight pressed against him. But Oliwer can't slow down time, and it happens so fast. The greenrider's lips are by Oliwer's ear. "It is not okay. I would never forgive myself if I lost control with you. There's fun, and there's serious. This kind of thing," his hips shift roughly against the healer, "It can be fun, but not when there's any chance I'll hurt you in a way I can't take back. I won't lose you." He refuses. Apparently. It's too fast for any reaction from Oliwer. He's already compromised by the time he's had any chance to process it. But there's no struggle and little tension once he's bent over with his arm pulled behind him. It's either because he's Oliwer, not in any shape or form a fighter, or a simple testament to just how much he trusts G'laer. Only his shallow breath suggests anything like fear. "Have you, since Teisyth? Lost control?" It's some heavy breaths later that G'laer answers, "No." But that doesn't mean anything to him. Abruptly the greenrider releases his hold on the healer and he's straightening and moving again. This time it's back toward the hearth, toward the not yet empty bottle of wine. Only after he has a glass in hand does he turn back to glower at Oliwer. "You are too sharding important to take a risk like that." So stop tempting him and telling him it's okay. He doesn't say this aloud, but it's implied. Other than his arm shifting back to rights to brace himself, Oliwer doesn't move for some few moments. Not until G'laer speaks. He glances toward the greenrider as he's turning to sit on the edge of the bed, face flushed. "I know," he says. "I know that. But I know you wouldn't hurt me. Teisyth wouldn't let you hurt me." He can't really know that. But he seems convinced anyway. "She couldn't stop me." G'laer sounds almost regretful. And he proceeds to down his entire glass of wine. "I know that I wouldn't hurt you so long as I am in control of myself. And I won't let myself lose control with you." He starts to pour another glass' worth. The healer rises and the reason he probably didn't right away is still pretty obvious. But Oliwer isn't paying attention to that as he crosses toward G'laer. The greenrider isn't trying to keep distance, is he? "You don't need to lose control to blow off steam. Do you?" No, G'laer isn't trying to keep his distance, but he's not about to put down his wine and the bottle occupies his opposite hand. He doesn't miss anything about Oliwer's approach. "Not the same kind of steam." At least, it's not the same kind Oliwer is thinking of now. The greenrider looks to the glass and the bottle and then the bottle is set aside and wraps that free arm around the healer, pulling him abruptly tight against him. "We're done talking about this." The 'do you understand me?' is implicit; grown man or not, G'laer is telling the older man what's what. Oliwer is trying to think of something to say when G'laer pulls him against him. Peering up at him, it's pretty obvious he wants to object. But he doesn't. Maybe he's pushed the greenrider enough for one day. Or maybe he's just relieved to be so close now, somehow safe from G'laer's anger in his arm. Except now he doesn't seem sure what to say, or do, so he doesn't say, or do, anything. G'laer doesn't want him to say anything not from the way he ravages Oliwer with a rough kiss. He pulls away long enough to question sternly, "Do you remember the safe word?" There's a certain surrender in the way Oliwer responds to that kiss. He's nodding his head before he can manage to get his mouth around the right words, voice breathy. "Y-yes. Of course. Needlethorn?" "Good." |
Leave A Comment