Difference between revisions of "Logs:Returning to Persie"

...He also wears way too much cologne.

After Leova's flight, and after most certainly having gone to bathe himself and change. A'son finally returns to his weyr. Hours later, there's still a dismayed expression on his face and he begins to dig through the drawers of his dresser. Clothes are strewn out and onto the floor until he finally produces a bottle of something. Not a bottle to drink, but a bottle with a spray attachment. Cologne maybe? Whatever it is, he's now spewing the stuff all over his body and the stench of it permeates the entirety of the weyr. When he's spraying it all over himself, he'll put it spray it on his jacket. Then put it on. It's only then that he goes back to his ledge to mount Nikoth, to take a trip to the other side of the bowl.

Somewhere on the otherside of the bowl, the weyr is dark. The fire's been untended long enough that now it's just a little glowing pile in the hearth, a few stalwart flames still flickering but hardly enough to lend much light or warmth to the room. Persie is sitting there, anyway. She's not on the tangerine colored rug or the purple couch. She's sitting up in bed with the blankets huddled around her and her legs drawn to her chest. However, it looks like she's fallen asleep in this position; her head is bent all the way to one shoulder. By the time Nikoth lands, Secath has given her at least some warning and though it's not visible in the darkness, her lashes are just starting to flutter open.

When Nikoth lands, he looks unhappy, probably because his rider has ripped him away from his little green girlfriend hours earlier than he would have liked to leave her. But his happiness doesn't seem to be high on A'son's priorities right now. He dismounts in a hurry and walks hurriedly into the weyr, though he slows when he enters the empty, near-dark room. Quietly now, he'll take slower steps until he gets to her bed. In addition to his ragged breath, there's going to be the almost over-powering stench of his cologne that precedes him.

Secath is hardly one to leave a poor guy all alone. She twists her head just so, a look, an invitation, to come cuddle with her superior (to her mind at least) green self. And before Persie can even get her eyes focused to look at A'son's barely silhouetted figure, the stench of him hits her and she breathes in. "What is that?" she asks, not sounding particularly happy about the smell. She starts to lift her head, but it's been to one side long enough that she groans softly at the stiffness.

Nikoth whuffles sadly, settling next to the much smaller green. He'll settle his big head on down next to hers and try be all warm and close. A'son shoves his hands into his pockets, leaning against the wall. Sheepishly, "This smelly stuff my mother got for me. A few turns ago. It's been sitting in a drawer since then." He bites on his lip, something she can't see in the dark probably. "What're you doing?"

Secath will take a bit of warm and close, she wriggles in eagerly next to the bronze. After all, in his state, he might just appreciate it properly. Persie slowly gets her head up, a hand slipping out of the blankets to rub on side of her neck. "Kind of a lot, isn't it?" She can't see that he chews his lip, though maybe she can hear it. Her eyes just watch him lean. "I guess I was sleeping." Though she doesn't sound much like it now, it hasn't taken long at all for the remnants of sleep to slip away.

"I felt like I needed it." A'son answers, still in those sheepish, embarassed tones. His hands come out of his pockets to rake through his cold, damp hair. The lip chewing begins anew and he doesn't seem like he's sure what to do next. "I wish I was sleeping." He states lamely and goes from hair playing to goatee tugging, his leaning still finding the wall a nice, solid support for him.

Persie doesn't seem to have any better idea of what, exactly, either of them should be doing. She just sits there, a head above a mound of blankets, twisting her head this way and that to try to stretch the kink out of her neck. "Well..." she starts and hesitates. "You can." Equally lame. She's chewing her lip now, too.

A'son is silent for a few moments, inactive (unlike his scent). When he finally speaks it's to ask one question, "Should I do at my weyr or here?"

There's some little catch in Persie's throat, audible enough. "You can sleep here if you want to." She stretches out a leg, enough to kick the blankets out from their pile and perhaps allow another person to have some covers.

A'son shrugs his jacket off to the floor, leaving at least half of the smell behind. This probably makes being near him at least somewhat bearable until it wears off a little more. Slowly, just a step at a time he approaches the bed. Kicks his boots off some place along the way. Inching now, he lowers himself down next to her. Hesitantly he's sneaking under the covers and scooting close enough to her to just barely put his fingers on her side.

Persie doesn't really move, though. She offers a bit more blanket when he actually climbs in, tossing a length of something over him, but she stays sitting instead of wiggling down next to him. "Are you okay?" she asks quietly.

At least she doesn't pull away, which he's probably terrified of. So when she doesn't do that, his fingers inch onto her a bit more. "I guess." He answers dubiously, scootching closer to her so he can hide his face in her side.

With his face attempting to burron into her, he likely can't see the frown -- though maybe he couldn't see it anyway. But she lifts an arm to wrap it around his shoulders and hug him, gently, against her side. "This is really..." But Persie has no idea where to go from there.

Unable to see her face and that frown, all he's got is that she's putting his arm around him. Which would seem very positive, given the circumstances. But her voice isn't exactly sounding like the body language is and he shifts away a little, try and look at her face. Anxiously, "...Not good?"

Persie swallows and hesitates another beat. "No, it's not good. It doesn't feel good." There's no remonstrance, no scolding, just a touch of something sad and searching for better words. What he'll find when he looks up are a pair of lost eyes, dark in the lightless weyr, dark against the pale of her face and hair. "What happens now?"

"I didn't do it on purpose." A'son defends lamely, though there hasn't been a hint of accusation anywhere in her words. Maybe he's just feeling bad as he tries to inch in closer again. He'll wrap his arms around her waist and try to sneak his head into her lap. "Does something have to happen? Can't it be the same?"

"I know," Persie tells him, though perhaps without as much heart as he might hope. When he inches closer and moves to wrap his arms, put his head in her lap, she lets her other leg slide out, giving him more lap to claim. Her arm stays around his shoulders. "Do you... do you feel the same?"

This is one of those situations where if you give A'son an inch, he'll probably take it a mile. And he does, claiming more of her lap than is likely necessary for him to take up. "I really didn't it." He tilts his head up to kiss little portions of her stomach. "Of course I do. Nothing like this would change it." There's something of a heavy silence before he asks, "What about you?"

His desperate cuddling steals the breath from her chest and Persie closes her eyes tightly. But she doesn't resist the way he snuggles up against her, the weight of his head in her lap or the wind of his arms around her. She lifts her hand to brush through his hair. "I'm just... scared."

"There's nothing to be scared of." A'son sneaks a couple of kisses onto her stomach. "I came right here. After I took a bath. After I changed my clothes. I came here." There's a breath and then he squeezes his arms around her. "Please don't be scared?"

"But you..." She has to pause, because he's kissing her stomach, he's squeezing her. "You spent all that time together. And I wasn't... I'm not... Loeva does those things. And you shared all that." Persie stops to try to wet her lips with a dry tongue. "Maybe there's something there."

This has A'son shaking his head and he begins to unwind his arms, pull himself up so that they can be face to face. "What about all the time /we/ spent together? You think I'd throw all of that away? Now?" He searches in the dark for some expression. "I'm not in love with Leova. We didn't stay together afer the flight. We left each other and I came /here/. To you."

Is that panic? Anger? Persie can't quite tell, but either way, she takes his face in her hands, holding his cheeks like something precious. "I still love you, I'm just scared. I can't just... not feel scared. But I'm not... I still want... I..." The words fumble as usual and end with a little choked sound as she begs him to understand whatever it is she can't say.

A'son leans forward and wraps his arms around her, squeezing and burying his face into her neck. He kisses there before lifting his chin up to talk into her ear, "I still want you. I still love you too, there's nothing there with her. That's only you."

She wraps her arms around his neck, sudden and tight, squeezing him with all her strenght. "I know," she tells him. "I do. I know." There's some 'but' hanging there, one she doesn't say. Instead Persie turns her cheek against his. It puts her lips near his ear too, and so she whispers. "I don't like your cologne."

A'son just sighs into her skin, relieved by her hug at the very least. For her last, for that whisper, he laughs. Shaking his head a little, back and forth. "I won't wear it again, I'm sorry."

"Thank you for not wearing your boots to bed," Persie says then. It seems these comments make him feel better and surely she has plenty. "I'm sorry I didn't stoke the fire." It is a bit chilly in the weyr, particularly when one isn't under all the blankets she's been warming. "I was just... busy thinking, I guess." She's still holding him, still clinging desperately.

"Thank you for lighting a fire at all." A'son murmurs into her neck. "It's okay you didn't stoke it." He snuggles against her, his body a little chilly but not freezing cold. "You don't have to worry about anything. I know that you're going to but... I'm not going anywhere. No flight is going to change that."

"Are you scared?" she asks him then, letting her arms relax, her body relax too, so that she might just sink down onto the bed or against him or however gravity might best express itself. "Are you scared about me?"

A'son keps his arms all wrapped around her, so that if she sinks she shouldn't sink too far down. "I'm nervous about us. I don't want you to change your mind." He admits, pressing into her comfortably.

She'll sink against him then, some of her tension releasing as she leans into him. "What do you think about?" Persie wonders at a murmur. "When you think about us. What do you see?"

A'son relaxes now, as she seems to be becoming closer to him again. "I see you and me, together. I think that I can't wait for all the nights we spend together, all of the nights that I want to keep spending together. How I just want to keep you close and not have anything go wrong, for once. Happy." He kisses her forehead, "What do you see?"

Persie thinks on it, for just a moment, bending so her forehead is against the warmth of his neck. "I see... you yelling at me when you trip over my shoes for the hundredth time. And you holding me when I can't stop crying. And... making you smile when I climb all over you." That last one, though, it steal a bit of the wistfulness from her voice.

"And me passing out from exhaustion, starvation and dehydration when you make me roll around for the hundreth time in a night?" A'son asks teasingly, pressing his lips onto her head. "I see me coming home and finding the kitten missing and then me missing the note and running around looking for her. Only to realize that she's with you."

"You passing out from exhaustion before we even roll around at all," Persie adds in with a chuckle. Whatever pulled her away a moment ago, she's back now, listening to him. "Will you still want me when I'm gray and wrinkly?" Her arms unwind from his neck so she can push at his shoulders, push him back and down to the bed.

"Well, see. You're not going to get gray and wrinkly. I'm going to get gray and wrinkly. You're going to be /white/ and wrinkly. But I'll want you just the same then as I do now. Will you still like me when I'm a grouchy old man?" A'son asks, laughing as he obediently allows himself to be pushed down onto the bed.

"-You- already think you're a grouchy old man." As he starts to drop back onto the bed, she lets her hands run down his arms, looking for his wrists. "But you aren't and you know you aren't." There might be something just a touch impish in Persie's smile, even in the dark. "I think you just think you're supposed to be." She climbs onto of him, throwing a bare leg over his hips to straddle and sit on him, blankets having slipped away and leaving her in the chilled air.

"I might be somme day. I don't think you answered my question, missy." A'son teases, looking up at her in the dark. There's a broadening of his lips when she stradles him, and if she's got his wrists she may find them trying to escape. Trying to work over so that his hands can settle onto her hips. "You're going to freeze to death out of the blankets."

It's hard for Persie to have other plans for his hands when they move so nicely and warmly over her skin. She lets them settle on her hips, but her hands don't let go. "Maybe even when you get a slouchy potbelly. Your hands feel good. Will you feed me soup when I get sick? And clear away all my used hankies?"

"What about when I get gnarly old man hands?" A'son asks, squeezing her hips gently. "I'll feed you soup when you get sick. I'll even wipe your little mouth with a napkin. An orange napkin." He grins up at her. "I'll get rid of all your old, used hankies."

"A pink napkin. With white stripes. And embroidered hearts." Very specific. "And when you catch my cold, I'll wash your face. And I'll rub your back." Now Persie finds the inspiration to try to pry his hands from her hips, intent to push them down onto the bed as if she could loom over him with any power at all. "Are you very tired?" she wonders, her teeth catching her lip. "You know, after... tonight?"

"A pink napkin, white stripes. Embroidered hearts." A'son repeats, as if he's remembering this. Committing it whole-heartedly to his brain. "Will you help my shave my face, or is that too much?" He asks, once again the teasing tone back. The removal of his hands is allowed and he watches them be pushed back. "I'm not that tired." He tells her, his breath catching.

"I think maybe we should shave your face," Persie answers, agreeing with this notion and bending over him now so that she can bite his hairy chin. "It's scratchy." Or course, it's not really meant to be eaten, either. "I'll shave it for you if you want. Or I'll try it, at least. I've never shaved a man's face before." She bites his jaw -- light playful bites of course.

"Oh... I don't want to shave my face yet. I meant in thirty years. I was thinking of growing one of those long, mountain man beards. You know? Down to my pot belly." A'son would drag his hands along for demonstration, but instead he just wiggles his fingers around. There's something of a manly chuckle for her biting his jaw and then a little groan. "Persie. I /missed/ you."

"How about... in the spring instead? You can keep it until then to keep your face warm." The nibble of her teeth turns to a few kisses laid on his neck, just where the scruff of his beard starts to end. "How can you miss me? I didn't go anywhere."

"How about in the fall? This way I can put it off until next spring and when spring comes I can put it off until the fall?" A'son asks, wheedling. He breathes heavy from the touch of her lips on his neck. "Easily. I miss you all day long. And it wasn't you tonight, I missed you. I'm so glad that we're here. That you want me to stay." If he can, he'll turn his head to kiss her face.

"You sound like you just... just realized it all of a sudden," Persie chuckles quietly, and only briefly because when he turns his head, she's quick to give him that kiss. A gentle, shuddering one that lingers a while. "I miss you too," she whispers when it ends. "Of course I want you to stay. Even though I'm scared. I always want you to stay. You're... you're my best friend."

"No, I've known it before. But tonight, tonight it's really strong." A'son lifts his head to kiss her back, make it last a little while longer. "I always want to stay with you. You're the best thing in my entire life." He'd give her a hug if he could, but he's a little restricted as it were.

The restriction doesn't last much longer. For all of those words, Persie's hand let his wrists go because she has to take ahold of his face, she has to kiss him again. This time it's not one of those tremulous kisses but something sudden and forceful and demanding. Or as much as Persie can be any of those things. And then it stops just as suddenly so she can look down at him in the darkness, pet his face as if that's a perfectly reasonable thing to do. "I'm not going anywhere."

If face petting isn't a normal, everyday occurence? A'son doesn't let on. He reaches out to grab her face and pull her down so that he can continue kissing her, a certain urgency to the way he touches her. "Thank you, thank you." He murmurs against her lips before trying to take a little bit more control over the situation. Hands slipping from her face to her sides, he tries to make a smooth roll over on the bed.

Persie lets out a mmph of surprise when she grabs her and kisses her like that, but she sinks into it quickly and kisses him back, her breath quickening. And when he's murmuring his gratitude against her lips, she whispers back. "A'son. Shh. It's okay." And she's petting him again, stroking his cheeks, running her fingers through his hair, even as he rolls them both over. "Do you think you could... try not to sleep with her again? I'm really not looking forward to the barracks tomorrow."

A'son is fervently kissing her again, apparently all set and ready to move on from that whole talking thing. But she's still talking and it's with surprise that he reacts to her request. There's a little baffled confusement too, "Try? Persie, you don't have to ask something like that. Her and I aren't going to run around sleeping with each other."

"If she rises again," Persie tries to explain. "Though well, not running around and sleeping with each other either," since A'son brought it up. "But maybe she likes you. And it's just... Everyone in the barracks knows about you me and now you and her and... Everyone already thinks I'm pitiful." She wraps her legs around his hips, just in case he thinks that this top of conversation has completely distracted her.

"No one is going to think a single thing other than that it was flight." A'son leans in to kiss her all over again. There's audibly deeper breathing when she wraps her legs around him and he teasingly pushes himself closer against her. "No one thinks you're pitiful. They all /love/ you. They're just going to think I'm terrible." There's a touch of regret there, which he's pushing away to kiss her again. "I don't think Leova likes him that way. There's nothing to worry about, love."

"Well, then I'll just imagine it anyway. And even if they don't look at me... I'll think they're looking at me. And you're not terrible." The word is lost into a little growl, a happy noise for the way he presses against her. "I won't let them think you're terrible. I won't. The don't... they don't understand. If they love me, they can't think you're terrible. Because you..." Now her breath starts to quicken again, but in the teary way instead of the aroused way.

A'son's urgent, longing kisses are still coming. His hands are reaching to tangle with her hair. "They can think whatever they want. They're weyrlings. I'm their teacher, not their friend." He kisses her more and then... She's sounding like she's about to cry. He pulls back to look at her face, "Pers?"

Persie just croaks out through her tight throat, "You mean so much to me." And then she's trying to kiss him again, even though there are little sobbing breaths mixed in. Her arms, her legs, all clinging to him again. "You're so good to me. You're... No one ever..." Between her usual failed explanation, the kisses and the barely withheld tears, it's a wonder she gets even that much out.

At the renewed kissing efforts, he presses his lips to hers again. "I love you, Persie. I'm always going to be good to you. You're amazing and wonderful and great." He tells her, uttering several other praises into her ears and skin and neck. His fingers slip away from her hair and he's trying desperately to get his cologne-soaked clothes off his body.

Persie breathless now and just when it seems her hands can't stay still, can't decide whether to tug him nearer by his neck, to frame his face or run through his hair, she's suddening gripping him by the cheeks so she can look at him. She certainly wants to say something -- she has that look about her -- but the moment he starts trying to tug his clothes off his body, she leaps in to help, buttons and such be damned. It seems like she can't possibly get him undressed fast enough and somewhere in the middle, she releases him altogether to wiggle herself out of her undewear.

When they wake up in the morning, A'son is likely going to find that some of the buttons on his shirt are missing. But for the moment, that doesn't seem to be the greatest concern of the moment. Instead, it seems he's more occupied with getting all his clothes off as quickly as possible. And when he does, he's pressing his naked self down onto her body. He runs his hands over all her familiar curves and nooks, pressing them and feeling them.

All his skin against all of her skin, so warm compared to the cold air of the room. But A'son is quickly soothing whatever goosebumps the chill has brought to Persie's skin, and probably stirring others of his own. Just as those curves feel familiar, scant and slim as they are, his hands feel just the same, safe and warm as home. She breathes out his name and kisses him again as they set about making an even bigger mess out of her already messy bed.