Difference between revisions of "Logs:Pillow Talk (NSFW)"

K'del's Weyr, High Reaches Weyr

Accessed via a narrow staircase from the Weyrleader's Complex, or from the broad, sunny ledge beyond, this weyr was clearly designed to be for one of the weyr's junior queens. Spacious, but not extravagant, it boasts a well-sized outer room, narrowing in front the well-sized dragon couch and ledge beyond. Much of this main room has been turned over to a couch and several chairs, which circle the hearth and the blue rug set down in front of it. There's a low table here, too, set in the middle of that rug: there are almost always papers spread out across it, some of them important, others more inclined towards the fingerpaintings created by small fingers. A tack-cupboard stands tidily behind the couch, keeping out of sight a rider's paraphenalia.

Three low steps lead up onto a peculiar little landing, just large enough for the antique skybroom desk and set of shelves that have been placed there. Here, too, there are definite pointers to the lived-in state of the weyr: the desk could in no way be described as tidy.

Behind the desk, a narrow passage leads in an inner set of chambers, made up of a sleeping cavern and a private bathing area. An oversized wooden sleigh bed fills much of the space, the mattress piled high with overstuffed down pillows and comforter, their covers dyed in varying shades of navy blue, light blue and bronze. There's a nightstand on either side, both with reading lamps, and against one of the other walls, a tall, heavy wardrobe made from a dark wood that matches the bed. The bathing area is part of the same cavern, a folding screen shielding the toilet and slightly raised, double-sized bathtub built into the stone, and a small shelf holding toiletries, shaving equipment, and clean towels.

Io turns, shifting so one leg is thrown over the bedsheet rather than under it. Two fingers 'walk' up K'del's spine to where his neck meets his hair and disappears beneath the curls. "Are you awake?" It's only been a few hours since they fell asleep, surely, surely, he's awake by now. And if not, maybe she could coax him awake.

K'del's low grunt is probably indication that, in fact, he's really not awake. He's a deep sleeper, deeper still in these post-parenthood days -- though touch is clearly a good way to rouse him, given his log-like sleeping form is already less log-like, shifting unconsciously closer.

Since touch elicits a reaction, and possibly her question, Iolene's other hand slips over his shoulder to spoon K'del, and slide it down to his chest, and then arm and cast, and lower, to try more of this coaxing thing. "Mmmm. I can't sleep," and by virtue of that, apparently neither is he allowed to sleep, though at the very least, her words are hushed -- as if she wants to wake him, but doesn't really want to be the one that wakes him wakes him. "Kas? Do you think- will we-, I mean..." Pillow talk is such a funny thing, as you straddle serious and the desire for not so serious, and Io hesitates, considers, tries again, and repeats. She settles with a vague, "Are you happy?" Pause. "Are you awake yet?"

It's been a while, now, since K'del had regular overnight guests and, lucky for Iolene, being woken up in the middle of the night with hands that do lovely things to him, is still new-and-fun. His second grunt is a little more vocal than the first, and gets followed by a shift in breathing-- yes, okay, now he's awake. "Mmmph?" But not quite awake enough for coherent thought. "'m awake. What is it?"

"Cold," complains Iolene, though not really. It's all just an excuse to inch that leg back beneath the bedsheet and over K'del's legs, squishing herself as close as possible. Being a fantastic multi-tasker, that able little hand doesn't stop while she repositions herself, and throughout her ensuing inquiry. "Mmm. Nothing. Not really. Just wondered if you're happy. I mean, if you're okay with everything." There's bashfulness coloring her voice suddenly, as she asks, "Would it have been better if Ysavaeth didn't- I mean, I knew she was leading Cadejoth on to get his interest in her." Another short pause. "Are you sleeping still?"

"I'm awake," promises K'del, and given he sounds more coherent this time, he's probably telling the truth - though he's also pleasantly diverted by her clever little hand, which can't really be helping this whole thinking bit. His backside presses back against her, which is probably as much as he can do in this position, down an arm and on his side. Now, however, his head turns, seeking to look over his shoulder and at her, as best he can. "Yes," he promises. "I'm happy. Not saying things aren't-- messy. But maybe it needed to get messy."

Seeing what trouble he has talking to her from this angle, Iolene scoots back a bit, taking some of that bedsheet with her, so he might lie prone. The hand that was once in his hair brackets itself against a pillow and holds her head against her fist. The young woman's mussed blonde hair spills over her shoulders. "Messy. Everything I touch always seems to get messy," says the goldrider, voice reflective rather than deprecating. "I was- I was thinking..." Does he want to hear?

He rolls over, carefully, shifting his right arm, the broken one, to his side, while the other reaches to trace Iolene's features with light fingertips. "S'the way life is, sometimes," he allows. "Mine, too. None of it was ever supposed to happen the way it did, but - things work out. What is it?" Right now, right here, he does want to hear. All of it. Any of it.

Oh. Given the opportunity, enough time's given for him to settle, and then she springs, her lithe form dropping with that hunter's grace on top of him, without any of her weight actually on him. Not at first. It's eased atop, as she drapes herself with a happy little purr. Physically, Iolene might be distracted, but her words, once she's settled, carry a clarity in it that speaks of her rather than any Ysavaeth and her. "I was thinking if this works... if-... if it will make you happy, we might try something different."

It makes him laugh - her springing, her happy purr - in an affectionate, contented kind of way. He doesn't remark on it, but simply waits for her to respond with easy (wide-awake, now) patience. "What do you mean? What would you want to try, Io?" Once upon a time, he never used that nickname with her. Then it slipped out once, and now-- it's as natural as anything. As being in bed with her, even.

Cause pillow talk and actively wanting part two to happen tonight always does so much better with the mention of another man; "E'gin said something to me a long time ago." Iolene's body stills, then shifts, her arms moving so her hands might rest on his chest and her chin atop that. A light, deliberate series of breaths blows upwards at his nostrils to the rhythm of a favorite harper winter song.

In reply, K'del's arms reach out so that he can trace lazy spirals on her shoulders, even the bad arm, the one that he's not really supposed to use much at all. Mention of E'gin certainly draws a frown, but, well - naked Iolene, naked K'del, cozy bedroom, perhaps it's easily forgiven. Her breaths make his mouth twist, amused, but he says only, "Mmm?"

There's another shift and then a gentle rocking rhythm that not only speaks of later delight to come, but is an unsubtle effort to evoke more of a reaction from the bronzerider. Iolene blows again and then lengthens her torso somehow, just that extra little bit of distance, to place a kiss to K'del's chin. "Mmm, don't stop, lower." She'll even try to help get his hands to travel down her nude back to the small of it. "It seems we can start something new. To make sure something like Tiriana doesn't happen again." There's a long silent beat. "No more forever Weyrwoman."

K'del's breath hitches only slightly under Iolene's rocking, though there's no doubt it has having the desired result. His hands take their instruction, working lower - fingertips extending even as far as her bottom on occasion as they continue their lazy circles, and their slightly harder, fingernail assisted squiggles. Iolene's words, however, draw a faltering pause, fingers stalling altogether for several seconds as he digests the idea. Then, all of a sudden, they're moving again, and he's saying, in a low, serious tone, "How would you suggest it work?"

Iolene's face finds the little curve of K'del's neck where it meets the shoulder and showers it with the tiniest of loving little kisses. This renders speech impossible for a little while, lapsed in favor of happy little sighs and the surge of her supple body against him; all movements that aim to wipe traces of that mention of another man.

If K'del is a little bewildered by this sudden shift from a relatively serious conversation to - well, those kisses, those movements, his own fingers' efforts and the soft exhale it all encourages in him? Well, he's a little too distracted to really think about it. There was another man in the conversation? Was there? How easily a person forgets.

Another murmur of unintelligible words that's likely just a series of pet names and affections ends with a little happy sigh before the kisses stop and Iolene refocuses. "Golds," not their riders, "Are senior queen for a year after their flight, after which the next gold to fly becomes the new senior queen." Which doesn't explain much about the riders still, but Iolene's lapsed back into affection and working her knee between K'del's legs to part them.

It takes K'del a few moments after that stream of kisses to properly refocus his own thoughts, and he's silent for a time after Iolene speaks as a result, though his fingers continue to play her body with idle reverence. His legs part rather by instinct, given his distracted thinking; a moment later, however, he's saying, "That doesn't seem like it would be-- consistent. Constant upheaval."

Iolene smiles into the Weyrleader's neck. "And." Kiss. "A." Kiss, it is a word of its own after all. "Council." Another kiss. "Of." Repeat. "Elected." Again. "Riders." Another. "Of each color." She'd much rather be kissing him more than speak in between kisses.

It should be noted, Ysavaeth is sleeping. Fast asleep. Fast fast asleep.

Cause otherwise, Iolene might suddenly croak and die. Just saying.

Ok. Those kisses? Distracting. K'del? Distracted. Some part of him might, at this point, be trying to work his head around this possibility and make sense of it; the rest of him is not even remotely interested, not when he can try and pull Iolene up higher and try and turn her kisses onto his mouth instead.

So easily pulled, so easily maneuvered. It's all a lie as after her mouth does find his in a lingering, exploratory kiss, Iolene has her own agenda and moves to sit up, letting that sheet puddle about them, and rocks against his body (and his world) without him having to use that poor arm of his. Apparently, conversation is vastly overrated now.

There was a conversation? Funny-- it probably won't be until tomorrow, or perhaps even later than that, that K'del properly even remembers it. But the seed has been planted; who can say, right now, when there are bodies to satisfy, if it will indeed take root.