Difference between revisions of "Logs:Intimacy"

Bookworm's Paradise Weyr, High Reaches Weyr

In clear weather, sun dapples the floor of the southward-facing weyr and reflects prisms of light from the fine glass that fronts wall after wall of neatly carved bookshelves. Empty now, but for a few volumes tucked up on a shelf, clearly this weyr is a bookworm's delight, all ready to welcome someone's collection of scrolls and finely bound volumes. The living space here has been sacrificed somewhat, cozy rather than spacious. There's enough room for a table and chairs in front of a hearth overhung with a precious maple-stained skybroom mantle, but the sleeping area is another nook carved into the wall, neatly laid with a comfortable double mattress. The linens are presumably stored in the lovely trunk set just to the side of the nook, a match in stain and wood-type to the mantle. Niches for glows are well-spaced along the tops of every shelf, the glow-holders made of interlacing strips of copper set with mica to give the light a mellow cast.

All in all the space invites one to come in, curl up with a favorite drink and a book to read.

Trust G'laer to have marked the time. Six months to the day from their first time together, the evening went differently than their usual sevenly (or twice-a-sevenly) dates. This night, the usual order of things was reversed, with G'laer having his way with the healer before dinner, and employing all the techniques and tricks he'd learned Oli liked best over the months. It's a subtle recognition, but recognition nonetheless, if Oli's aware of the timing (because the greenrider certainly hasn't said so far, not that he's said much of anything at all tonight). The evening's exertions leave G'laer dozing with an arm wrapped firmly, possessively, around the healer as the greenrider acts as the big spoon for the purposes of the nap.

If Oliwer is aware of the timing, he hasn't acknowledged it. And while he's grown quite fond of having his mind blown in ways only G'laer has had the pleasure of managing, he's certainly no passive participant in their fun. He's been a fairly quick study despite his own prior lack of experience. And once they're both quite satisfied, the older man is more than content to rest quietly in the arms of his younger lover. He might have dozed initially but now the journeyman is lightly tracing the veins in the greenrider's forearm with the tips of his fingers.

The sensation certainly contributes to the greenrider's gentle waking. To the soft, contented sigh that escapes him. To the slow curve of his lips that can be felt as he presses his face against the older man's neck. G'laer isn't one to be overly emotional, ever, but with Oliwer, he's less guarded, more open and at least he smiles and doesn't hold back his laughter. It's a sign that there is intimacy there, even if in the six months they've been together he's never found the appropriate first 'thing' to tell Oliwer. It's a hard thing to be a man so self-contained and yet be tentatively forming a deeper connection. It's definitely a moment for pillow talk, but as G'laer shifts to prop himself up on an elbow, not moving that arm that's being traced, so he can tilt his head a little over the healer's shoulder to look down at the man, the greenrider is still silent; he probably doesn't really know where one begins. It's a moment or two of just looking down at the jouneyman before his baritone, a little rumbly with the edge of sleep, manages, "Hungry?" Then, "Thirsty?" Not that it seems like he's hopping to sait either of those needs just now, even if he might feel them himself.

It might be helpful for this particular pair of men if one of them were more inclined toward open emotions and fanciful proclamations to push the other out of their comfort zone. As it is, Oliwer is quite comfortable where they are, and in G'laer's company. When the greenrider shifts to prop himself up, Oli tilts his head to look at him with a smile that crinkles the corners of his eyes. He doesn't seem to mind the lack of talking, not adding anything of his own, but when G'laer asks, the journeyman says, "I could eat. And you always make me work up a thirst. But nothing terribly pressing. This... this is nice."

The crinkles are asking to be kissed whether they mean to be or not. Unfortunately, G'laer isn't shifted quite right to make that happen and still be impulsive, so he settles for letting his lips find Oli's jaw instead. As he trails a few kisses there, there's a rumbling noise of agreement. This is nice. When his lips are free for speech, he asks without preamble or unnecessary beating around the figurative bush, "What would you think of doing this kind of thing more often? Maybe a night or two more a seven?" Bringing them up to a whopping two or three! "And maybe with some nights being less of that," his hips shift against the healer, pressing flesh suggestively to flesh so the meaning can't be missed, "And more of this?" He flexes the forearm being traced in contrast. All the while, azurite eyes gaze down at the older man intently, watching for every micro expression. "At least for a while." Suggesting there might be a known end point in the future. Curiouser and curiouser.

The trailing kisses sort of lull Oliwer into feeling very much like agreeing with that offer. But the last comment makes him hesitate from being too hasty, and his lingering smile fades slightly in favor of a more quiet regard. His fingertips still against G'laer's arm but he doesn't seem upset, simply curious. "I wouldn't mind more of this, admittedly. So long as it didn't interfere with either of our duties." Somehow. "But what do you mean at least for awhile?" His gaze shifts up to study G'laer much the same way the greenrider is studying him, if perhaps less intensely.

There is no obvious reaction to the slight fade of Oli's smile, but G'laer can't have missed it. "Mm." It's a thoughtful sound. Perhaps by now, though, the healer might be able to recognize the ever so slight give away that the greenrider is about to indulge in good-natured sarcasm. "I suppose I could see my way to not keeping you tied up," perhaps sometimes more literally than figuratively, "-when you have duties," which is probably to say that G'laer doesn't see how more nights together could impact that. The tone the words are delivered in is gently teasing. At least there can be levity for that before G'laer allows a sigh. "My kids are coming after the fall harvest." There's more of course, but the topic is making the greenrider shift up into a seated position. "I put Aseana," his ex, "-off until I got settled into my new duties, but..." The time is now approaching. "I was going to have them fostered in the lower caverns, but my sister got pissed when she heard that, and apparently my other sister that knows agrees, and they want me to be the twins' Dad," as opposed to absent father, "-and have them stay here with me." Which, to answer the question, "Which would mean I couldn't be away at your room overnight for a while."

When G'laer sits up, Oliwer shifts to lean up on his elbows, watching the other man with a grin lingering on his lips in response to the teasing. He listens, rising up into a proper sit, looking a bit like he might have an opinion on this proposed setup. But he decides not to offer it, instead nodding and glancing briefly around. "That seems like the most appropriate thing to do," he agrees with some sense of pleasant neutrality, the sort he uses when he doesn't want to confront something that might, on some level, bother him.

It's a moment before a brow arches skeptically for a moment in answer to the healer's pleasantly neutral response. Then the movements are abrupt and much bigger than a brow raise. The leg closest Oliwer pulls up while the far hand pushes the greenrider from a seated position to a full body pivot, swinging the far knee over the older man's legs and leaving G'laer comfortably straddling his thighs. "Oli, we've been lovers for six months now. You're allowed to have, and voice, opinions about my life. Especially since this affects you-- us." His look at his lover could be called stern, but there's a tiny, barely perceptible edge of softness.

Oliwer might be a practical man. But he's still a man that's rather fond of the man that ends up straddling his thighs. It distracts him for a few moments, his eyes wandering before they shift up a little sheepishly to G'laer's face. A hand moves to settle on the greenrider's thigh, squeezing gently, perhaps even earnestly. "It's better news than you wanting to stop... this," his hand shifts up and down that thigh just enough to make his point, "in general." Saying even that much is probably difficult for him. "Do you want your children to live here with you?"

The greenrider is attentive both to the hand on his thigh and then to the words (it has to be two separate actions because each utilizes a different brain). "No." The answer is direct even if the tone of delivery is conflicted. "We're strangers to each other. Aseana wants me to bring them here so they have more options than becoming a porcine farmer when they turn thirteen in a turn or so. But I don't know anything about being a dad, and for all I know, they might hate me." He shakes his head then, expression hinting that he sees no good path.

The journeyman is silent for a few moments, processing what G'laer has said while he considers what he might say. Then, "Perhaps you should ask them what they want. It might set your mind at ease, one way or another. And, either way, they'll have the Weyr's resources at hand. I worry that, if you don't want them to live with you, they'll know. Even if you try to hide it. Children can be much more perceptive than they're often given credit for." Oliwer pauses uncertainly, frowning just noticeably as he continues, "I don't mean to overstep, of course. And I'm not sure I should be much of a consideration in any decision."

The grimace is brief. Talk to his children, crazy. Or maybe it's because G'laer has no initial verbal response to the advice but he does want to know, "Why shouldn't you be much of a consideration?" The greenrider's brow is furrowed slightly, regarding the healer seriously.

Oliwer doesn't seem to have a ready response for that question. It's evidently not one he'd assumed would be asked. "Well," he begins, the hand on G'laer's thigh moving again. It's hard to tell if he's trying to distract the greenrider on purpose or if it's just some unconscious defense mechanism. "Your family should take precedence. I'm just--" He pauses, not sure how to continue that thought. He glances down at his hand on G'laer's thigh and it comes out before he's looking back up, "I'm just me."

"Let me try to put things into perspective." The greenrider says slowly after a long moment of gazing down at the healer with narrowed (if not angry) eyes; does he even notice the hand on his thigh now? His focus is intense. "I was at my first posting as a newly graduated guard. I'd just..." He has to take a moment here to draw breath, "I'd just been through something traumatic and I met Aseana. And it was easier to think myself in love than deal with anything else I might have been feeling," Might. "She was small-hold stock in the worst way, so she says we ought to handfast, and I think, 'Shells, why not?' So we do and a few months later she's knocked up." He shifts slightly, redistributing his weight lest Oli go numb during his tale-telling, "And I tried. To be a good husband, a good family-man. And..." It's here he looks troubled, "You'd think coming from parents so happily committed and such a large family that I'd've been halfway decent at it, but I wasn't. So I hung on as long as I could and left once I was doing more harm than good." He shifts again. "Those kids... to them, I'm just marks and a name, and I don't know that I know how or want to be more to them, even if it makes me not the kind of man my parents hoped I would become." His look is troubled again, but only briefly because then his blue eyes are seeking Oliwer's. "You, however--" Only... how to say it. A few moments pass before the younger man speaks soberly. "This is more than just sex, to me. I'm not a traumatized teen running from something scarier or less fun." Can he say he cares? "I want you in my life. 'Just you' matters. To me." Not in so many words, but maybe sort of?

As is often the case, Oliwer is attentive while he listens to G'laer, accepting what the other man is comfortable sharing with him at face value without pressing for more. When the greenrider meets his gaze, he's already working on forming some response, lips parting. But when G'laer continues, he pauses. He doesn't react immediately, searching the greenrider's face as though he's trying to find something insincere there, something to justify his own insecurities. When he doesn't, a smile flickers into his expression and his gaze drops briefly to the younger man's chest. "I like being in your life. More than I'd expected. I'd... I'd miss this, if it had to end." He glances back up, "You shouldn't worry about what kind of man your parents hoped you would be. Or what kind of man your wife wants you to be to your children now. You're a good man. You should just be you."

For a moment, G'laer's indecision can be seen. Then he leans down and kisses his lover in a way that might feel suspiciously like 'goodbye' or at least 'just in case I don't get to do that again'. When he comes up for air moments later, he unwillingly slides the hands that had found the healer's face and neck during the kiss away and back to his own thighs. Then he's shifting off Oli and settling cross-legged beside him. A deep breath later, the greenrider is addressing the healer seriously. "There are things you need to know if we're going to keep at this." Beat. "I am not a good man." That's the beginning. "It would be wrong to let you think of me that way. If you're going to be with me, you need to know me. Not the me it's easy for others to assume I am." G'laer stops there and waits because... Well, maybe Oliwer doesn't want to know.

There's an underlying urgency in the way Oliwer returns G'laer's kiss, and he seems reluctant to let it end when it does. But of course he's not so brazen as to follow the greenrider when he shifts away. The healer watches him, though, and it's pretty obvious he's not giving much merit to the idea that his lover might not be a good man. "I don't care who you've been. I really don't. Who you might have been doesn't make you the same person now." Except there's an unspoken question in those words. Is he the same person now?

"My values haven't changed." The greenrider seems to have heard the unasked question, or at least guessed. "My professional life is different, but that doesn't mean an end to who I was- am.lowly draws breath. "Would you want me if you believed I wasn't a good person? If you knew I was mediocre at best and often selfish?" It's a serious question.

Oliwer doesn't answer the questions. He has one of his own and perhaps his answer depends somewhat on how the greenrider responds. "What values?" It's difficult to be faced with the prospect that the person you think you know may not actually be the person you think you know. And the healer still seems dubious that this is even a possibility.

Talk about a tough question. Fortunately, G'laer isn't one for flinching, but he is one for choosing the right words. So he takes his time to choose them. "I value the grey area." He decides on. "The world has good people, bad people and the people like me. Let's call me a switch," perhaps akin to the bedroom definition but with a decidedly different set of extremes. "I... feel like there should be a balance to things. Maintaining that balance sometimes requires morally questionable acts." Then he says it, bluntly. "I have taken lives with these hands." They're held up between them; here, they look so harmless.

The healer's face is oddly neutral, given the circumstances. It makes him harder to read which, in itself, probably means he's become less comfortable with where things have headed. He glances down at the greenrider's hands before his gaze shifts away, looking at nothing while he processes. Finally, "I think I've always known that-- I mean, I haven't known, obviously. Assumed, I suppose." He knows G'laer used to be a bounty hunter, after all. That can't always go well. And he's become quite intimate with the younger man's scars. But assuming and knowing are fairly different things. Oliwer starts shifting tentatively toward the edge of the bed even as he works on justifying, "But you had good reasons, surely."

"I'd like to think so." Which might be comforting. "Probably not everyone would see it that way." Which might not be. The greenrider doesn't stop the healer, but does follow (since the smallish bed is tucked against a wall on two sides and so there is only one convenient exit). G'laer stands for a moment before moving toward the crumpled pile that is his pants. "Would you like us to take you down now? Or just her? Or to call for an elevator dragon?" The way he says it doesn't imply the healer has to go, but is rather meant to offer him an easy out should he want it. "Or I can make us some tea?" Probably at least for G'laer he means special tea. It is sort of a very heavy topic they've ended up on.

He's not as quick onto his feet, shifting slightly away from G'laer as the greenrider passes him to stand. Oliwer looks in the direction of his clothes for several moments before actually moving to start putting them back on, sitting back down once his pants are fastened. "I don't know," he says, uncomfortably uncertain. "I don't know," he repeats, then adds, "Tea sounds... good." The healer is distracted, going over the last few moments in his head again, no doubt, as he puts his shirt on and crosses his arms over his chest. "Do you still--" There's a question there but he can't quite bring himself to finish it.

Since they aren't going anywhere a-dragonback presently, G'laer stops at pants that, beltless, hang low on his hips. He doesn't watch Oliwer dress, or doesn't appear to, though it's almost a certainty that he's aware of what the healer is doing while he's preparing the hearth and the tea kettle and placing it over the hearth. Normally, there would be hot water already hanging and a low fire crackling, but the greenrider had come straight from drills and they didn't exactly stop to do any housekeeping on the way in. He's padded down the bookshelf-made aisle closest to the bed that houses his herbalist supplies and small work desk. There's no immediate answer. But after some moments while he thumbs through paper packets of pre-made mixtures, "I wish I could give you the easy answer that you want, but it's not that simple. I'd like to explain, if you'd like me to." Then, "What kind of tea?" Which is to say the kind that mandates relaxation or simply encourages it. He's never pressured Oliwer to partake in the special tea, but it's a standing offer.

"I'd rather you explain than have to make up every horrible situation I can think of on my own," says Oliwer, just a little more direct and less polite than he usually strives to be. The fact that he is a little uptight right now is probably a major factor in his first impulse decision. "Whatever you're drinking." He pauses like he might change his mind, then pushes himself up off of the bed to take a few steps away and wave a hand at G'laer, "Right, whatever you're having." And perhaps so he doesn't keep thinking about his decision, he paces quietly through the greenrider's weyr.

"Okay." This is the answer for both. Simple and direct. G'laer doesn't seem taken aback in the least by this more direct and less polite version of his lover. Two small packets are plucked up and he moves out of the rows of bookshelves and into the cozy (read: small) living area and sets them on the table. Now there's just the matter of waiting for the water to boil... and explaining. His eyes track Oli's paces while he sorts where exactly to begin. It's rare that any part of the greenrider's anatomy can get away with any movement not signed off in by his brain, but now fingertips trace grain lines on the unfinished wood of the small table. Finally, "The reason it's not a simple answer is because while I haven't in turns," An ambiguous time frame but perhaps not intentionally, "If presented with certain situations, I would." Then on the heels of this, "If you were in danger, for example." Maybe that's meant to be romantic. Hopefully he would choose to exhaust less violent avenues to secure Oliwer's safety first, but he didn't say that.

"No," says Oliwer abruptly, stopping to turn toward G'laer and looking quite serious. He even points a stern finger at him as he repeats, "No. You'll never do any such thing. Even if there were some danger to me, which there isn't and likely never will be. Never." He doesn't ask outright if G'laer understands but he keeps looking at him as though he expects some sort of acknowledgement for this particular demand.

G'laer frowns at the pointed finger. It's moments like this that even G'laer wishes he were an easier person. But he is only himself. So, of course, the answer is. "That's not your choice." Though he's been giving the healer space until now, he moves to intercept his course. He's not meaning to touch him, not yet, but get within arm's reach. "Oli, I'm not a loose cannon. But if someone tried to hurt you, not even a night with no moons and with rain could stop me from finding them, and not even Faranth could help them once I did." The greenrider reaches out his hands, palm up and open, asking silently for but not demanding the older man's hands. "I couldn't live with it." This is softer, asking, this time for understanding.

The journeyman has an uncharacteristically intense look on his face. He probably wants to argue about what is and isn't his choice, but he doesn't. Whether it's because G'laer approaches, he doesn't know what to say, or some other reason only he knows, is less obvious. Oliwer looks at the greenrider's hands uncertainly. It's an awkward position to desperately want the comfort of the person that's making you uncomfortable. "It's a lot to take in," he admits quietly, stepping in to embrace G'laer rather than just taking his hands. "The idea-- I don't know if I could live with someone being harmed for my sake." Directly, anyway. "But... nothing like that would ever come up. I don't know why I'm overreacting like this."

That the healer steps into an embrace genuinely surprises the greenrider. It's exceptionally rare that he's caught off guard, but in this moment he is. So there's a beat before his arms wrap around Oliwer in turn. When he does, though, of course his arms are strong and firm, and he holds the other man tight to him. "Like you say, it won't happen." So as long as they don't need to talk about if it did, they're fine! G'laer moves his head down to press his face against Oli's neck, drawing in a deep breath and lingering in that embrace before letting his head straighten back up. "It is a lot to take in," He agrees, "And you don't have to take it all in right this moment. I'll-- answer whatever you want. Or keep it to myself, as you like, but I couldn't keep on with this without giving you the option to know about me." The words have been considered carefully, and are delivered with due weight. G'laer lingers there with his arms around the healer even as the tea kettle starts to squeal it's readiness on the hearth.

Oliwer is content to stay in G'laer's arms for as long as he can. He doesn't say much, though, which can only mean that he's thinking. "I want to know you. I just need to let this all sink in a little." He lifts his head to look at the greenrider, even trying out a small, not entirely convincing smile. After a moment, he starts to draw back with a glance toward the hearth so G'laer can take care of the kettle.

G'laer is duly unconvinced, but that doesn't stop him from taking advantage of the tilted head of his lover to lean down to hide those unconvincing lips with a kiss. The kiss is a gentle one, though after some moments it is strong enough to indicate a stronger emotional motivation. The kiss breaks, and so does the embrace, the greenrider saying quietly, "I want you to know me." Which, for just a moment, has G'laer looking just a little bit scared. Thankfully, there's the kettle to tend to. So he does that, and the packets are upturned into the mesh cup that sits at the mouth of the kettle. Since they're having the same thing, it can steep in the kettle instead of in separate cups as is habitually the case. The greenrider turns to pick up two ceramic mugs from their home on the mantle over the hearth, and then there's a hand extended in invitation to Oliwer to join him at the hearth.

A kiss is something Oliwer can let himself get lost in for the moment, despite all of the uncertainties he's trying really hard not to think about. This is still G'laer, still the man he's maintained something resembling a relationship with for the last six months, with feelings that he's still not entirely sure how to express. And those feelings aren't just vanishing because of new information. The journeyman watches the greenrider as he deals with the kettle, watching the man more than what he's actually doing, a little like he's just seeing him for the first time. But once there's a hand extended, Oliwer tries a smile again and moves closer.

The greenrider looks a touch more convinced by this smile. When Oli draws near, G'laer's inviting hand seeks the healer's to then draw him closer. The next is an attempt to start small. "You know you're safe with me, right? That I would never, ever hurt you?" At least physically (unless Oli likes that kind of thing); the rest... well. He has a lot less control there.

Oliwer lets G'laer take his hand, squeezing just noticeably once it's settled. "No, I know," he responds a little quickly to that question. "I think that's part of why it's so hard. You've always been so... you." Which wouldn't really make sense out of this particular context, perhaps. "I have a hard time picturing you hurting anyone." Despite the various scars and things that suggest G'laer has been on the receiving end of hurts more than once.

The question that comes next might seem less than on topic. "Ever seen a brawl first hand? Or treated people in the wake of one?" G'laer shifts so the hand not entwined already can reach around and find a resting spot on the small of Oliwer's back.

"No," says Oliwer, amending quickly, "I mean, I've never really seen a brawl. Nothing serious, anyway. But I've treated my share of the aftermath, I suppose." He probably sees more than he'd really care to of the aftermath, admittedly. With G'laer's hand finding the small of his back, the healer looks at him, expecting some relevance.

G'laer nods to indicate receipt of the information. Relevance is forthcoming. "Does everyone you treat seem the type to throw punches and do others harm? Or do some seem like normal people when the fists aren't flying?" Does Oli see what G'laer is getting at? Then, "Guards are trained to make the kill when it's necessary. And they're trained to determine when it's necessary." This is said matter-of-factly, which makes the subtle sadness to his next words the more noticeable, "But mistakes happen."

His eyes narrow slightly, not unkindly, as Oliwer considers the questions. Whatever he decides, he frowns at G'laer's last comment. "Mistakes happen," he sympathizes. "I've had patients die in my care. Sometimes there's nothing you can do but try to make them comfortable. Sometimes there's not enough time to do what needs to be done." The strangeness of them working at such extremes when their mistakes can lead to the same outcome actually makes the healer bark a laugh despite the inappropriateness. As though to cover that up, he points out, "You aren't a guard anymore. You're a dragonrider."

As Oliwer is talking, the greenrider leans back just slightly to get a better view of his expression. The words of the healer's own experience receives a solemn nod before the laugh has his brow wrinkling in confusion. "What's funny?" If this weren't Oli, he mightn't ask, but it is, and this is important. "You're right." He agrees. "And dragonriders have less cause to kill than some, but dragonriders are, or were, once a kind of guard, though their deathly enemies lived largely in the skies. But times are changing in this Interval, Oli. When did we last see an army? One that burnt crops and stole sons from their parents? When last did two Holds disrespect their beholden Weyr by sending shorted tithes in the same turn, forcing hardship upon their dragonmen and face no consequence?" The greenrider's face is truly expressive now. He's managing not to raise his voice, but his intensity is perhaps made more so by the quiet but distinctly passionate delivery. "I hope such a thing will never happen again I'm my lifetime, but I'm not one to stand idly by and let weak leadership lead my home and my way of life into ruin. I'll do what's necessary to protect that." In the moment of silence that follow's G'laer's eyes are locked onto Oliwer's, his touch tightened, though not painfully so. "If I can live the rest of my life and never be given cause to take a life again, then I'll be all the happier for it. But, Oliwer, I don't believe I'll never meet another person that this world would be better without." It's obvious in the moment that follows that that belief weighs heavily on him. It might not be a readily apparent question, but what kind of people does G'laer think the world would be better without? Villains? Heroes on the wrong side of his agenda? Well-intentioned but evidently weak leadership? The answer might make G'laer less the champion and more the villain himself. Hopefully, Oliwer won't think to ask.

"Nothing," Oliwer admits in regards to what might be funny. "We're just so very, very different. In some ways, it seems like you're everything I could have asked for in a... man." It takes him a moment to decide which word to use there. "In other ways, it surprises me that we can get along at all." Maybe that means he's accepting the idea that the greenrider isn't the amazingly wholesome man he'd built up in his head, anyway. "There should be people to stand up against those who would exploit others," he allows, but he frowns. "I don't like the idea that you might end up in the infirmary or worse because of it, though." Nope, Oliwer will just assume the best of G'laer's intentions.

"I know." This comes softly. Even though Oli has been oblivious, G'laer has known. "You know how sometimes you question what I see in you?" He asks as he draws the man's hand up to place over his heart, holding the palm there as he admits, "I sometimes have the same question. I just didn't ask. Asking meant talking about all of this, and I wasn't ready." Then he aims to move the healer's hand again, this time brushing the fingertips across the most grisly of the scars on his bare chest. "I'm a survivor, Oli. That's what I do. I survive." Which doesn't, of course, promise a lack of infirmary visits.

Oliwer looks down at his hand against G'laer's chest, but glances back up when the greenrider admits he's had his own questions. It's obvious that he finds that a little hard to believe even now but he doesn't say as much out loud. "I'm glad you decided you were ready," even if Oli might have helped that along a little himself. "I'd rather know who you really are than--" He pauses, like he's cutting himself off from saying something he's not sure he should say. "Than care about someone that I don't really know." And to move right along into changing the subject, "You still need to figure out what to do with your children."

G'laer considers Oli for a moment, and his words. The slow breath and gentle kiss that's placed upon the healer's lips are both relief and acquiescence. Surely, they will come back to this, but for now, the greenrider releases his holds on the healer to turn to the table and pour the tea, taking up his mug in one hand and offering the other to Oli. "I think I ought to foster them, in so far as they need for only being here a short time," Unless one should decide to stay. "You're the sort of man I imagine being a good example for children. I could teach them to be hard, but little else, and they wouldn't thank me for it, I shouldn't think." His words are delivered candidly before taking a sip of his tea. "My sisters will be cross." The use of the word cross implies something closer to 'unbearable.'

The mug is taken in both hands and Oliwer blows over the top of the tea inside. He takes a careful sip before moving to sit down, gaze shifting between the hearth and G'laer while he stretches his legs out in front of him. "It might be for the best to foster them. But perhaps they'll want to become dragonriders. Or find a journeyman willing to apprentice them. I'd still hope you make some effort to get to know them, though. And let them get to know you. It would be a shame to regret not taking the opportunity when it's too late."

With his now empty hand, the greenrider snags the back of the empty chair and turns it around, to the side of the healer to straddle it and be in intimate but not uncomfortable discussion range. G'laer sips his tea thoughtfully before making an answer. Instead of a straight answer, the man has a question for his lover: "Are you good with kids? Well, almost teenage ones, anyway?" Another sip and, "I'd hope they'd apprentice before Standing. See what's out there for them." So he does think about his kids. It's a small admission, but it's a start.

"I... suppose?" answers Oliwer uncertainly. "I don't think I'm bad with them, anyway. I've never really given it much thought. I imagine they just think I'm some old man of little interest." For some reason this makes him smile fondly as he takes a sip of tea, watching G'laer. He seems happy, more relaxed, to have moved onto something more comfortable to talk about. "I would teach sometimes. When I was at the Hall."

"Did you enjoy it? Teaching, I mean?" It's easier to ask this than to admit the reason for him asking. But the conversation could become a dead end, or at least the attempt at intimacy, if he doesn't. G'laer takes another sip of tea, as if it should lend him some courage in the way a stronger drink might. "I don't know the first thing about them. I can't imagine they're much like I was at that age. Brought up so differently." Then another swallow, before, "I'm more afraid of her than him. I've never been good with women I'm related to, and not much better with women in general. Or people for that matter." The confession has him staring at his tea, because it's too much to look at Oli just now, even if Oli is already aware of some of these shortcomings.

"I did," he admits. "But it's not the reason I became a Healer. I prefer to work, to help people that need it. Teaching can become so... political, I suppose. I don't like the idea of politics in healing." Oliwer frowns for a moment, but it fades as his gaze refocuses on G'laer. "They're basically just adults without the life experience to base good decisions on." It's a small attempt at humor. He leans forward slightly to touch a hand to the greenrider's arm, squeezing affectionately, "I think you're better with people than you give yourself credit for. I like you, after all." Never mind that he's only just learned major things about his lover and the fact that Oliwer likes most people.

A fact that G'laer won't overlook, "You like everyone." The tone is more teasing than accusatory. "I bet you couldn't name me five people that you harbor a serious dislike for." He challenges this before cracking an appreciative smile. He's grateful for Oliwer's effort, even if he thinks the older man is unknowingly full of shit. "What about teaching is it that appealed to you?" It's not just a distraction from the topic of his twins; he does genuinely want to know.

Of course Oliwer has to consider that for a few moments. Seriously consider it, trying to think of five whole people that he dislikes. "Well," he finally says, "Five is a lot of people. Maybe I'm just good at surrounding myself with likeable folks." The grin that accompanies that makes it a little more obvious that he knows perfectly well he's more likely to like someone than not. "I think I like the idea of inspiring apprentices to want to heal, not just to be called a healer."

The first answer has G'laer cracking a smile, the look of his eyes in that moment speaking more than he's ever managed to voice aloud. It's a look he then hides behind his mug because... well, that conversation would just be too intimate. (Admitting to being a killer? No problem. Feelings? Ai-yai-yai!) "I admire you." He does say, firmly, after a moment. "For liking people so much, when the world is what it is." He punctuates with a sip, "It almost makes me want to be optimistic." Almost. "Were there any apprentices you remember well? Any that were especially inspired, you think?"

The smile is echoed unintentionally in Oliwer's expression, his eyes crinkling fondly at the corners. "The world isn't so bad," he says. And it would probably be an even better place if more people shared his opinion. "Some optimism might do you good, G'laer. Imagine what you'll be like when you're my age," the healer teases. He's still smiling when he answers, "None of them were mine, but I remember quite a few of them. Some have even grown into very respectable healers, so I'd like to think I had some hand in it." Who wouldn't like to think that? "Did you ever train other guards?"

G'laer fakes a cranky expression, lips pulling down and brow furrowing deeply. "I don't see a reason in the world why mine can't be the ledge the weyrlings dare each other to land on so as I can chase them off with a stick." Or possibly a stick made with metal... that has edges... "Nevermind that Teisyth would probably be issuing them personal invitations to visit." The faked face is erased now, "And can you imagine what would happen if you and she lived under the same roof? She'd be inviting, you'd be-- giving them sweets or something and I'd never be rid of them." Maybe G'laer likes optimism in the personalities he's closest to. He has to take another long sip of tea again, because in the firelight his cheeks may have reddened just slightly. "I did. Many. They have the older ones in training mentor the newest additions, and I spent some time as a training instructor when I returned to Crom after my first assignment away from the Hold proper. I'm afraid it was probably a very different sort of student-teacher relationship." Less positive influence and more do-or-die.

He's smiling at first, but some thought must cross Oliwer's mind because he's looking oddly sad for the next few moments, brow furrowing at his tea. The expression evens out when he realizes it's probably showing on his face. Another smile precedes a quick, "Fortunately I can't bake or make anything to save my life, so it would just be whatever I could steal from the kitchen." Which, presumably, can't be much. He doesn't comment on the rest, just studies the greenrider before taking another drink of his tea.

It would make G'laer a bad boyfriend if he didn't ask. But is he a boyfriend? Would it make him equally so bad a friend or lover if he didn't? But it was G'laer's can of worms so, "What is it?" Were the circumstances different, the talk of food preparations might garner a different response, but G'laer's focus is that of a hunting canine who's scented his prey. Doesn't that just lend itself to all kinds of warm fuzzies, doesn't it?

Oliwer takes one last drink before setting his mug down and moving to rise out of his seat. "You said you were hungry, didn't you? We should eat, don't you think?" He's clearly on a food kick here. "Or I suppose you can take me down and we can find our own way from there." Because Oliwer is nothing if not accommodating, even if it's only what he assumes G'laer might want rather than what he actually wants. In either case, he doesn't answer the question.

A single eyebrow slowly creeps up G'laer's forehead until it's in a fully quizzical arch. Just who does Oliwer think he's talking to? The man rises in a smooth motion and leans to place his mug on the table before stepping to Oliwer. Hands seek hands with the intention to draw him close. "Oli," It sounds like it's the start of something, delivered softly, meaningfully, but then nothing. Azurite eyes simply bore into Oliwer's bluish-grey ones. And He Waits.

The journeyman doesn't pull away, but he seems a little reluctant to actually meet G'laer's eyes. And when he does, it's only for a few moments before he's glancing down at their hands and shaking his head. "It's nothing. Really. You know me." Weak smile, there. "I think too much sometimes and then things start to not make as much sense." Which G'laer might recognize as Oliwer's insecurities. He's been better about not letting them get to him, but obviously not perfect. "It's hard not to wonder how long I have before someone younger, someone more exciting, some rider, comes along and makes you realize what you're missing. I've never assumed this would be a permanent arrangement, but..." His voice trails off and he clears his throat, his hand squeezing the greenrider's for a moment. He never does look G'laer in the eye again and, in the end, he doesn't finish whatever thought had been trying to form.

By now, Oli might recognize the way G'laer's face lines with just a little pain when those insecurities are recognized. "Hush," the word comes on the heels of the healer's trailed off phrase. He shifts Oli's hands to a single one of his while the other arm curls around the man to draw him into an embrace. G'laer's chin rests against the shorter man's temple. "Oli, I don't know where this is going, if it's going, but it's not going to end because of someone else. No one can come along to make me realize what I'm missing, because I'm not missing anything. Hear me?" On those last two words, he pulls his head back to look down at his lover, seeking once again his elusive gaze.

It's very likely that Oliwer doesn't entirely believe that, deep down. But it's comforting to hear right now all the same. He leans in just so against the greenrider, drawing in a deep breath of the man that's become so familiar to him. When he pulls back, the healer looks up at him, finally meeting his gaze. "G'laer, I..." He pauses, smiles. "Thank you." He might have almost said something uncomfortable for both of them. "We should clean up and get you fed, hmm? As much as I hate to suggest you put on a shirt."

This time, G'laer doesn't ask. Maybe this time that makes him a good maybe-boyfriend. He doesn't, however, move immediately to don a shirt. "In a minute," comes the response as he looks down at Oliwer. Then, slowly he moves to press his lips to his lover's; not something that will take them back to the bed again so soon, just something for the things unsaid. Once that's done, then there can be food. But since there's a bag by the hearth with enough of the Living Cavern offerings to satisfy them, who needs a shirt?