View source for Logs:Turnday Tryst: Tayte's 27th Turnday, Part 2

{{ Log
| who = H'vier, Tayte
| where = H'vier's weyr and a winter festival at a Benden holding
| what = After [http://hrweyr.net/Logs:Necessary_Dramatics:_Tayte's_27th_Turnday,_Part_1 finding no turnday fun partner in K'del], Tayte takes a chance that in a dress this good, things won't be awful with H'vier. She is pleasantly surprised and another turnday is a smashing (if not smashed) success!
| when = Day 20, month 12, turn 32
| gamedate = 2013.10.03
| quote = "Don't worry about your toes, gorgeous. I'm as good at dancing as I am at fucking."
| weather = 
| categories = General
| mentions = Haelena
| ooc = It's Tayte and H'vier, so there's some adult themes. Back-dated and played via gdocs.  I (Tayte's player) am a total dork, so I picked out [http://image.dhgate.com/albu_373354237_00-1.0x0/sexy-v-neck-ball-gown-prom-dresses-2014-new.jpg this dress], and [http://www1.pictures.stylebistro.com/gi/Bar+Refaeli+Layered+Necklaces+Layered+Diamond+0AEA4It_DFVl.jpg this hairstyle], and found out this is [http://www.shimmerlings.com/gemstones/images/charoite_gemstone2.gif what charoite looks like].
| icons = h'vier smooth.jpg, tayte comehither.jpg
| log = It's brown Jevaith who's no less cocky than his rider Haelana who reaches for Reisoth on the evening of day 20, month 12, turn 32. Amusement heralds his message, << Hael and I just dropped H'vier's woman on your ledge at her request. >> Rumors get around even if Tayte didn't label herself that way. << Hael says to tell H'vier that if he's not up there for soon, we're going back, she's taking her home and peeling that dress off her with her teeth. >> Given Haelena's history for snaking the occasional bedmate from H'vier when he's trolling Snowasis, its likely that this isn't an idle threat.

When H'vier arrives, Tayte's not immediately apparent, though perhaps that's not surprising with the light snowfall that brushes flakes across the ledge. Instead, she's within the weyr, standing near the dead hearth, her back to the entrance. The glows have been uncovered in  such a way to cast dramatic light on her, which is to say only those nearest her have been bothered with. 

The response that Jevaith is graced with is pretty typical from Reisoth; quiet contempt. But there's a hint of odd possessiveness about his ledge that filters through as well. It's not as though he doesn't have dragons on his ledge from time to time without hard feelings so maybe it's just because he doesn't like Jevaith anymore than H'vier likes Haelena. Fortunately it's not very long before the bronze pair returns home and Reisoth curtly assures the brown of such. And as soon as H'vier enters the weyr proper and sees her, he pauses. Maybe not the sight he'd been expecting exactly, but it seems to be a pleasant surprise. "Not sure you should be allowed to go prancing around in that sort of thing, gorgeous," is his greeting, finding his feet again to drop his jacket and approach.

"Not everyday," Tayte answers as she turns slowly to face the bronzerider, her lips curling to what qualifies as a coy smile. "But today, I'm the turnday girl. And that means I get whatever I like." Well. In theory. "Do you like it?" She twists from side to side, getting the long purple skirts to swish from one direction to the other. "I thought you might like to take me out somewhere exciting." And appropriate to the dress. "If you're not busy tonight." She quirks a brow, almost daring him to turn her away when she's gone to such pains to be exquisite.

"Oh, right," says H'vier, dragging out the second vowel like he'd completely forgotten. "Finally twenty, isn't it?" The question is mostly rhetorical. He might be a horrible man, but he knows better than to dwell on a woman's age. "You're beautiful. It makes me want to take it off of you and stay right here for the rest of the night." Which is almost the opposite of going out somewhere exciting. "I think I can free myself up for the night, though. Did you have a particular somewhere exciting in mind?" H'vier, of course, could probably think of a few places that are exciting ''for him''. But his taste in many things should often be questioned. 

"Finally," Tayte's lips show her amusement. "Plus seven." She adds, but still younger than him, so what does it matter if he knows exactly how many turns she has in her life experience. "I heard there's some sort of winter festival going on out Benden way. Dancing, drinks, good food, like a gather. Do you own anything nicer than riding leathers?" She asks this as she arrives in front of him, her hands trailing across his beltline in a way that is probably not helping her 'go out' case. The smile she flashes up at him is innocent, "I rather like to have a good time on my turnday. Dancing, drinks, and good food all make the list of what qualifies. So does good sex. But I figured coming here that was a given if you weren't busy with some other girl." Her tone sounds so innocent. She's not looking to start something, right?

"Of course I own things nicer than riding leathers. I even own damned nice riding leathers." What self-respecting, arrogant, egotistical bronzerider ''doesn't''? H'vier isn't moving to change when Tayte is there touching so near his belt, though. "I'd like to give you a good time. But are you sure it's really such a good idea? For us to do something like that together?" It's easy to not talk during just sex, after all. It can be harder to avoid when there's dancing and fun and probably too much to drink if H'vier has anything to do with it. He lifts a hand to catch the wrist of one of hers where they are at his waist and he studies her face with an expression that verges on serious. 

"Well, if ''you'' don't want to come with me, I'll just have to find my own trouble to get into... Wouldn't you rather I get into trouble with you? Who ''knows'' where I could end up after turnday drinks in this dress..." There's a lot of trailing to the way Tayte says these things, for once it's him with a serious face where her's has a coy sort of playfulness, even once her wrist is caught. "Is there something so terrible about us doing something like this together?" At least this much is asked with a little more seriousness.

"You're not going with someone else." Yeah, it's as simple as that. They might be more distant but H'vier is still his usual possessive self. When she's asking that slightly more serious question, the bronzerider releases her wrist and glances down at her dress. In the end, he doesn't answer the question at all, but starts to turn to head toward his wardrobe. "What do you want me to wear?" Lady's choice, evidently. H'vier is already working his way out of his shirt. 

Tayte can't help but laugh a little at the possessiveness; not so much at ''it'', but just how easily it comes in answer to her teasing. She doesn't press for an answer when he doesn't offer one, the movement toward his wardrobe enough of an answer in of itself. "Well, it would be ''impossible'' for you to look as good as me," ''Fact''. And everyone knows the turnday girl is always right. Her alto is teasing though, so Tayte's not taking herself so seriously as all that. "But as close as you can get would be good, if I'm to be on your arm. Do you know how to dance?" She wonders as she watches him disrobe. Apparently turnday girl don't turn down a free show either. 

H'vier doesn't have a problem not being as pretty as Tayte in a dress. In fact, he might like the fact that she thinks it would be impossible. He's a manly man, after all, not a hot lady. "Well, all my dresses are getting cleaned right now so I'll have to wear pants," he says casually like he's totally not being sarcastic. His shirt gets tossed in the general direction of his bed and he pulls out a nice pair of slacks and a a button down shirt from his wardrobe. "Of course I know how to dance," he says like that's a dumb question. Even though she's never actually seen him dance ever. 

"Damn." Tayte manages to sound disappointed. Her approach can be heard in the movement of her skirts, though not in the falls of her slippered feet. "And to think," She starts as fingertips find muscles on his back to trace lightly, "Here I was thinking ''this'' was the turnday all my dreams would come true." Which, evidently, includes seeing H'vier in a dress. If he looks, though, the smile is impish and anything but serious. "Good. I don't like getting my toes crushed. Not even when I have someone so strong as you to carry me home after." Not that there might not be another reason, like alcohol consumption, that might lead to the necessity anyway.

"This work for you?" H'vier asks, draping the clothes over the door of the wardrobe so he can unfasten his belt, though he pauses at the touch of her fingertips. He glances over his shoulder at her, then starts to turn properly to face her. "Don't worry about your toes, gorgeous. I'm as good at dancing as I am at fucking." Which could really mean a lot of things depending on how one rates him in bed. 

"Oh, ''really''?" That's interest in Tayte's voice for the comparison about dancing, and in her anticipatory smile. Evidently, her opinion of his skill is enough to rate, but then she is still sleeping with him, after everything, so that her opinion is positive probably isn't surprising. He might have gotten to enjoy the continued touch of her fingers if he hadn't asked her approval for the clothes. But this is Tayte. And those are clothes. So H'vier's muscular form is abandoned almost insultingly swiftly so she can reach up to pick up the clothes he's just draped, inspecting them as though they were safety gear that would keep him alive (and maybe they will depending on how the evening progresses). It takes her time and she treats the garments with great care. "Yes, these will do." She allows before stretching up onto her tiptoes to try to replace them where he'd hung them; it does look like she could use a hand in the effort from someone, oh, say, about 6'5" or so and standing near her?

H'vier is so very helpful in the way that he moves an arm around her waist while Tayte is stretching to put the clothes back. His head ducks down to press his lips, and beard, against her neck. He, of course, steps in close enough to press himself against her, his hand sliding up her torso to touch one of the two things he likes so much there. "Glad I have your approval. Don't know if I could live without it," he says, voice a low rumble and still managing a steady pulse of sarcasm. "You wearing anything under this get up?" he wonders. Of course H'vier is wondering that. 

Oh, yes. That's helpful. It helps in making Tayte giggle, which doesn't help her aim of hanging up the clothes, rocking back onto her feet. Really, the most helpful thing in the scenario is probably his arm around her which keeps her from stumbling back. "Wouldn't you like to know," comes her answer from lips inches away from his ear now, her voice breathy perhaps because of the giggling or maybe she does it on purpose just to rile him up. "Guess you'll have to imagine about that until later. It can keep you occupied if we have a boring moment. Like if I decide I want to shop a little." It's dropped in there ''so'' innocently. The danger is real. But under his hand at least, it doesn't ''feel'' like there's extra layers and with a top like that, it would be hard to conceal a bra.

He rumbles a sound that's frustrated, but frustrated in a way that's really not so bad. Thinking about what's under Tayte's dress is sure to keep his mind occupied. "Don't think I won't." Or hasn't already, probably, among other thoughts. H'vier's arm around her tightens for a few moments, like he really would just like to rip her dress off and throw her on his bed. But he releases her again so he can slip on that shirt. The pants will come next, but he'll have to move somewhere to take off his boots so he can change. "You got money hidden in there, then? Or is me buying part of your night, too?"

Tayte is pliant enough in H'vier's arm, seeming to be enjoying the moment herself, though certainly that would change if there was a threat to her turnday dress. Or hair. Or anything. She smiles brightly at him as he releases her, turning to visually follow him if not physically. "Would you really make me pay on my turnday?" Her lower lip juts out in a little pout for a moment, just long enough for him to see it before she adds, "I've marks hidden all about my person. Maybe we'll make a game of it for you to find the unspent ones later. By twenty-seven, you learn not to depend on anyone to make your turnday what you want it to be." At least when you're twenty-seven and unattached.

"And by thirty-five, you stop worrying about turndays at all," says the bronzerider as he goes about getting rid of his boots. He watches her as he changes his pants, immune to pouting, feigned or otherwise. "Suppose that depends on what you wanted, anyway. But I'll bring enough." Enough. Whatever that means. H'vier works at tucking his shirt in before he's fastening everything and threading his belt. He'll even wear nicer boots that have a shine.

Tayte's delight is quietly growing as H'vier gets gussied up. It's ''likely'' that she didn't expect much in coming here tonight. It might even have been a stab in the dark as far as 'good times' go, given their spotty history. But so far, he's not only rising to the occasion, but seemingly surpassing her arguably low expectations. Once he's more or less ready, Tayte moves to where she left her wrap near the hearth and carefully wraps herself, tucking it in a way that will secure it for flight. She's even with her sky blue, fur-lined travelling cloak. It doesn't really ''go'' with the dress, but it's better than being frozen by the time they get to Benden.

It's not the main hold hosting the festival, but one of the larger outlying holdings. Still, they're putting on a good party and things are in full swing by the time Tayte and H'vier arrive. The turnday girl is all smiles as she moves through the grounds cleared of the snow. There are fires aplenty, shopping stalls open, a dance floor with skilled harpers, and food and drink aplenty. All in all, it's the makings for an evening of frivolous fun. With some of each of the offerings out of the way (shopping, dancing, food and drink), Tayte breathlessly returns to the table they've claimed between dances, waiting for H'vier to bring the next round (after many already) of drinks. Her gaze around has the marks of one plied by drink. Maybe that's why she's laughing at whatever it is that a good-looking brunette man is saying to her when H'vier returns with the drinks. ''Something'' about claiming the next dance or ten and how radiant she looks and blah blah blah.

Maybe it's just nice to pretend that they don't have such a spotty history and that they're really just too alike for an actual relationship to ever work. With each other, even, much less anywhere H'vier in particular is concerned. In any case, when the bronzerider returns to the table with another round of drinks, he doesn't actually seem ''upset'' about the good-looking guy with his (for the night) woman. He even grins at him as he sets the drinks down. "Didn't grab anything for you, man, sorry. But if anyone's getting under that dress tonight, it's me." The 'so kindly fuck off' is more implied than explicitly stated. 

H'vier's words have Tayte laughing and the other man blushing and making a quick excuse to leave after a look over the big, burly bronzerider. Tayte may look great, but she apparently isn't worth getting his pretty face messed up. "Aw, Havi. Are you going to scare them all away? I thought you might be up for a threesome since it's my turnday." Her lips purse, but she's had too much alcohol to be very convincing. The expression quickly surrenders into a perky smile as she reaches for her drink.

"I prefer my men to be indistinguishable from women from behind. Preferably gagged so they can't make any noise to ruin the illusion. I'll be up for a threesome when you find someone as gorgeous as you with the same perfect breasts." Hey, at least he's open-minded! Okay, maybe not. H'vier watches Tayte, though, lifting his own drink to take a good taste. He seems light-hearted enough with the extended addition of alcohol into their fun little evening. 

"So he wasn't pretty enough for you," Tayte concludes with an impish smile. "Too bad I don't go for 'pretty.'" Not that H'vier isn't pretty in his own special way, but it's pretty in the rugged with lots of muscles kind of way. "''Oh well''. I trust you can make tonight something special all on your own." It's after a few more swallows that the blonde leans back in her chair, leaving the mug on the table. "So if I'm ''around'' for your next turnday, or if I want to do something special for you. What kind of something would you like me to do?"

"Not nearly," agrees H'vier, all serious like it's a completely normal thing for him to talk about. "What do you mean around? Planning on running off again already?" There's a small snort for that. The alcohol is uninhibiting that way. "I don't know, doll. I try not to give my turndays too much thought. Just means I'm another turn older without the things I want. I'm sure I can make tonight special, though. Especially since I'm sure you'll let me know when I'm doing it wrong."

"Well, someone has to." Tayte quips in answer. "And I mean around, as in, if you haven't run me off again by then. It ''is'' only month twelve. There's lots of time between now and month eight." In which, presumably, H'vier could do something unforgivable, or temporarily unforgivable and she'll be forced to part company with him. "So far as I know, the Hall doesn't have any plans for transferring me again, although Markarin's still on his campaign to get me turned out of the craft." She rolls her eyes, though the alcohol makes her betray a tinge of worry. "And by the things you want you mean being Weyrleader? But that's only one thing. What ''else'' do you want? Anything I can help with?"

H'vier gives those thoughts a long few moments of consideration and then ignores them wholesale. No use talking about where they might be with each other past any particular moment that they're together, after all. "I'm sure he will find an unpleasant situation for himself if he manages," says H'vier, his smile betraying a certain enjoyment of casual threats. The rest earns a dismissive, "Tonight is about you, Tayte. Maybe if you're good, I'll even look the other way if you want to dance with that handsome bastard that's still watching you." 'Good' is perhaps not delving into silly things like feelings and ambitions tonight.

Tayte's brows rise at the casually made threat and then there's a roll of her eyes. Not, certainly, because she doesn't believe him, but rather because it seems the best response. The brows stay risen for his next statement and then her expression shifts. If she weren't drinking, it would be a subtle shift. Now? It's obvious when her expression becomes entirely too innocent and she reaches for the straw leftover from an earlier drink. The drink in hand is hardly one normally drank with a straw, but that doesn't matter. Her lips wrap around it and she sucks in a swallow of it in a way that's none too subtly suggestive. Then pulling her lips just far enough away from the straw to speak, looking up at H'vier through cosmetically darkened lashes, "If tonight's about me, then I know what I want you to give me for my turnday." But she waits to be asked before telling; getting him to take the bait is part of the manipulation. She sucks on the straw more while she waits.

The bronzerider watches the woman he's had a variety of feelings for in a relatively short amount of time. His expression is trying to neutral but he's had a little too much to drink to be any good at poker right now. So instead he looks interested, mostly in her mouth granted, and intrigued, mostly about what she says. "I thought this was what you wanted me to give you for your turn day," he points out. But since he's ''such'' a nice guy, he adds, "What?"

"Oh, noooo." Tayte reaches out a hand over the table to waggle her finger at him playfully. It's probably not a gesture a sober Tayte would make, but... here they are. "This is a mutually beneficial situation. We both have an amazing night, with good booze, good company, and awesome sex at the end. You might think you're Faranth's gift to women, but tonight, at least, I can compete as Faranth's gift to men, so this 'experience,'" she makes the air-quotes, "-is an equal exchange. For my turnday gift from you. I want twenty questions that I can ask and get honest, no-lie-by-omission answers from you." She moves to put her mouth back around the straw, look innocent again, but then, as though she'd forgotten, and maybe she had, she jerks her head up to add: "No expiration date on when I get to ask them." Then back to the straw.

He won't argue with the mutualness of the evening. He does appear to be enjoying himself, after all. Her actual request gives even intoxicated H'vier pause. He frowns mildly, brows furrowing as he gives that a few moments of consideration. And watches her mouth. Then, "Twenty is a ''lot'' of questions, woman. How about... five. Five sounds a little more reasonable to me. There can't even be that much you want to know about me."

"''Five''?" Tayte looks genuinely incredulous, "You're lucky I didn't ask for ''a hundred''." She uses the straw to swirl the liquid remaining in her glass before countering, "Fifteen."

"Seven," is H'vier's own counter offer. There's also a bit of a smile pulling at one corner of his mouth. It's kind of adorable to watch Tayte like this. 

Tayte's eyes narrow a little and her lips purse as she considers the offer. "Twelve and I find a dark corner with you for a few minutes of bad behavior when we finish our drinks," then her expression shifts to suggestive and alluring, though it might be a touch sloppy since she's tipsy. She does manage to shift just right though so as to accentuate her flower-framed assets.

H'vier has to think a little harder about that, weighing questions against dark corners isn't really a fair fight. Especially not in his current state of mind. "Fine," he says after a few moments. "But no dancing with that guy." Obviously, this has all been outside of the realm of her being good. Not that H'vier looks all that upset about it.

Humor is funny sometimes when alcohol is involved. Sometimes there's an attempt and it falls flat, other times, the timing is just perfect. Now is one of the latter moments. Tayte stares at H'vier, practically aghast. "No-- with ''him''? How will I ''ever'' survive the night?!" Her manner is dramatic, but it's ruined by a fit of giggles that overwhelms her resolve. "I much prefer you as a partner anyway." She says blithely once it's passed, her smile so warm; ups and downs, there's still a lot of feelings there, and apparently the positive ones are on deck tonight. It takes her only two swallows to finish her drink. "Whenever you've finished..." She's ready to make good on her end of the bargain.

H'vier doesn't do anything so effeminate as giggling but he ''is'' grinning. "That's what I thought." It's almost smug, for no particular reason at all. It doesn't take long for him to finish his drink at all but he does attempt to feign a general lack of eagerness that he probably doesn't do a very good job of. He is eager. And not nearly as smooth as he likes to think he is at this point in the drinks.

They ''had'' good intentions. It was going to be a little fun somewhere secluded and then back to the dancing and the drinking and the otherwise good times. But if there's one aspect of H'vier's and Tayte's liaison, it's the physical. And by the time things started getting heated up and the frosty temperatures penetrated the passion, they were quickly back to poor put-upon Reisoth and hurrying back to where there would be a soon-to-be toasty weyr with privacy. There was the matter of Tayte ''needing'' to hang up the dress, and much as H'vier might have liked to rip it from her, rips were strictly prohibited. But she made up for it. And he made up for... nothing? Maybe he was paying it forward for the next time things went awry. Or maybe they were just both lost enjoying the night for what it was. It wasn't alcohol that got them in the end, but exhaustion. With no questions used and having left no time in which to use them, they lapsed into satisfied, snuggly sleep.

The first question comes with the morning, just after they've woken, while sleep is still being staved off, slowly. As a result, Tayte's voice sounds a little dreamy, and she doesn't seem much inclined to move from where her head rests on his chest and the rest of her is curled against the bronzerider, "First question. Do you love me?" Apparently, even sleepiness isn't enough to get Tayte to waste her questions on frivolous things.

H'vier is laying there all comfortably half awake with a Tayte curled up against him. It's nice. He's not expecting that question. He’s not expecting any questions, really, but most especially not that one. The bronzerider opens his eyes to look at the woman in the dim light of his weyr. He doesn’t look upset, at least, just surprised. "''That's'' your first question? Seriously?" He doesn't answer it just yet, though, because his brain is still playing catch up on thinking of a less obvious way to stall.

"It's the one that matters most." Tayte half-yawns, half-purrs her easy response. "It tells me how I want to use the other eleven." She reaches up a hand to push a few wild tresses away from her face before she's shifting more, and then more, and then more until she's straddled across him with the blankets tugged up around her hips. "Do you love me?" She asks again, blinking her eyes slowly as she forces the rest of her sleep-haze away. "And you have to answer truthfully without lying by omission." She reminds the terms of her turnday gift. "And saying you love me because I'm straddled across you doesn't satisfy the question." Another clarification with a wiggled finger before her hands reach down to rest lightly on his chest.

"The one that matters most," H'vier repeats, his voice a little lower, a little more to himself. But he's easily distracted by Tayte moving over him. "I'm not sure what you're hoping to get out of these questions that that's the one that will tell you how to use the rest." The bronzerider's hands move to find a home on Tayte's hips as he looks up at her. "My love isn't bought as easily as some horny teenager's, gorgeous." It's not very hard to tell that he's reluctant to actually answer this question. But he puffs out a breath and says almost like he's resigning himself to it, "Yes. Yes, I love you, Tayte. But if you thought I was going to answer anything else, would you have really even asked?" Note, he doesn't ask it back or anything. 

Tayte keeps silent as he repeats, as he comments, as he quips. Once upon a time, she might not have been so patient, but now? She's got a four turn old daughter. That has taught her patience. And now, she's been tending bar for nearly as long. Talking to the patrons has taught her the power of silence. Probably he was going to answer anyway, in the end, but she waited, watching his face. Her expression was mostly expectant, but for a moment there, when he spoke of the price of his love, her lips pressed very slightly into a purse that doesn't seem ''wholly'' convinced by that. Still, when he does answer, she can't help the smile that comes to her lips. She starts to open her mouth to speak, and then decides first she needs to kiss him. So there's that, and then finally words, "Maybe no one's told you, Havi, but you keep your cards close to your chest and you have an excellent poker face." A face which she lets her fingers drift down. "And it does matter to how I use my questions. An answer of yes means I'm likely to be able to convince you to let me ask more before my next turnday." As she pulls back far enough to smile down at him, the look framed by a halo of her golden and rumpled hair is teasing, but with affection, maybe even love.

She knows him too well for all he tries to keep her from knowing him. Kissing is a good way to keep him pliant, after all. "That may be. But it doesn't feel like it's very good on my end," H'vier points out, quiet and relaxed as his head tilts every so slightly toward her touch. "Don't be so sure about that, woman. I'm much less interesting as an open book. My mysterious, rugged cover is really all I've got going for me." He grins in a way that makes it pretty clear he's just bullshitting at this point. At least until the smile fades somewhat and he's looking at her. Really looking at her. "You are so beautiful. It's really not fair, you know. I know you play me like a harper's fucking guitar. And I'm pretty sure that I don't actually care." Which means almost the same thing as the love, right? 

"Well, I-" Tayte starts in what's certain to be a quippy response to the comment about his poker face, only then he's talking more, so her lips close again and she listens, watching his face. Her mouth starts to open again, but doesn't get so far as forming words because he's ''looking'' at her, and under the intensity of his scrutiny, Tayte ''blushes''. It's a light bloom at first, but the longer he looks the darker the shading becomes, and then he says ''that'' and so ''genuinely'', and she's having to bite her lip and dips her chin in a vain attempt to somehow hide her face. Maybe her hair will cooperate and swing ''just so''? No. Alas. So the next words tumble out of her, "If it makes you feel any better, most times it feels more like I'm the guitar and you're the musician." It takes courage for her to admit that and she's silent for a long moment after. She can't seem to find her way back toward whatever it was she was going to say before all of that, so she just stays still, looking self-conscious and vulnerable.

"That does actually make me feel better, yes," says H'vier, grinning a little foolishly. Damned feelings. Not that he looks like he's regretting them right now. He lifts a hand to brush her hair gently back from her face, touching her cheek with the back of his fingers. But then he gets something better in mind and his hand slips behind her neck so he can draw her toward him to make it easier for him to flip them around. H'vier settles in between her legs, shifted down far enough to press his lips against her abdomen and tickle her with his beard. "Now then, beautiful. Is that all you're planning on asking right now? I think I'd like to ravish you before dragging you off to breakfast." That look is so very hopeful. 

Movement helps. It loosens muscles that got wound up by the stress of sudden and unwelcome introspection, of the fears that weave together to create vulnerability. Tayte leans into his touch, moving just as he wants her to, a gasp of surprise slipping from her lips when he flips them. The gasp dissolves into laughter. It's not nervous laughter or a girlish giggle, but laughter of relief, of a high that only heady feelings like love or something like it bring on. Her smile is wide as she tilts her head to look down at him, "I ''think'' I can keep my curiosity at bay, ''for now'', with your help to distract me..." If that's not enough to tell him there are no objections to the plan, there's a subtle shift in the way she's laying that invites him to make good on his desires.


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