Difference between revisions of "Logs:Let's Talk About Sex, Baby!"

Weyrling Barracks, High Reaches Weyr

Tucked off the back of the training room, the barracks are a huge, high cavern that stretches far back into the stone of the Weyr. Both of the longer walls are lined with couches for the dragons, enough for a couple of Pass-sized clutches at once, each matched with a cot and press for the weyrling dragonrider. In this day and age, however, the couches in the back have been allowed to grow dusty with long disuse. Hearths are spaced between every few couches to heat the big room.

For decoration, there are a number of tapestries on the walls, looking almost as beat-up as the couches out in the training room, but scattered flower pots with their bright blooming contents provide a cheery touch. Additionally, some of the couches have had graffiti scratched into them over the Turns that were never quite cleaned off: smears of chalk messages or even rough pictures, some not fit for young eyes. In many cases names and dates have been painstakingly carved into the rock, a record of those that once made their home here.

« You know what she's going to talk to us about, right? » G'laer knew this talk had to come first.

« Suuure do! Flyin'! » She was genuine. She really did think she understood. 'Flights' meant flying. In the private part of G'laer's mind, he groaned. In a way, this would probably be good practice if he ended up trying to raise the twins for the next couple turns. They were coming to the age where they'd be needing a chat about the avians and the vtols, too.

« It is about flying, in a way. » The man had learned that to tell Teisyth she was wrong outright started her cycle of guilt and unnecessary apologies. « It's about a specific kind of flying. » He shifted on his feet next to the wallow, watching the green as she worked to get comfortable. Even here, his hands stayed at his sides. Even when they were just them, he couldn't let go of his need to be ready. He knew Teisyth would tell him if they weren't alone, but... he couldn't trust she wouldn't get distracted, even if she never had failed him before.

« Like flyin' backwards? » Teisyth was trying, he knew. He knew she could sense that she didn't have it quite right, but his walls were too firm for her to riddle the exact nature of what she wasn't getting.

G'laer braced himself. He knew he had to bring down those walls. That without his openness, she stood no chance of understand (and chances weren't great anyway). He let out a long breath and then moved to climb onto her. She went still, ceasing her squirming, except for the way her breath picked up with excitement. It wasn't that they didn't ever touch, but just that this kind of touching was different. She knew it meant they were going to have a moment. He could already feel the way her consciousness was wiggling at the edge of his mental blocks, waiting for him to open the figurative door for her.

G'laer got comfortable against her and closed his eyes. He didn't like that he had these walls from her, but from day one she was so overwhelming with all of her feelings that they were simply necessary for his sanity. Maybe in time they would find a way to live without them, but for now, it took him time to relax enough to let her in.

As ever, the first moments were too intense, her joy just too much and he knows he's grinning like an idiot in spite of himself. This is what bothers him. It's not his grin. It's her finding expression through his body. Expression she doesn't think to ask his consent for. This discomfort is still behind walls, the deepest kind, because he knows that would hurt her in a way he couldn't bear.

Once she's over her initial excitement of being 'in', G'laer takes a breath and slowly lets his mind call up long-ago memories he hopes will explain. As the memories share, he parallels them with the book knowledge of dragon anatomy, of the right kind of flight. The feelings-- his feelings are confusing for her, so intense and so passionate. It makes her feel like she's intruding on something very private. She doesn't usually recognize 'privacy' but in this she does and she's abashed. « Maybe we don't need to talk about it? » She suggests nervously.

« But we must. »

« But maybe we don't have to. »

« But we must. »

She still hoped not, despite his certainty. For once, it was her who fled from his mind, from his shared intimacies, and suddenly she just really needed to think about the clouds that she watched that afternoon when she was supposed to be doing something else.

G'laer thought about pressing the issue, but Telavi would arrive for their meeting soon, and he needed to have his walls before she arrived, so instead, he left Teisyth to her cloud while he bend his head, closed his eyes and built.

Once the private flights chats started, G'laer knew it was only a matter of time. So when he was asked to meet Telavi after drills at Snowasis, he politely requested a change of venue. It's likely that Teisyth's old couch in the barracks is not where Telavi had in mind when G'laer had suggested the barracks, and yet, there is Teisyth, sprawled across the edges. And her rider? He's actually sitting on her. Half-reclined, his legs are draped across her curled tail, his back against her chest. Waiting.

The more human-style couches in the outer cavern are certainly where Telavi had looked first, followed by the office, but she did eventually make it to the barracks-- and now pauses with a bemused lift to her brows. "If you weren't here," she says to the pair, "I would have checked in the hearths next. Hello."

"It wasn't my idea." G'laer answers the more experienced greenrider, a shift if his eyes to the side indicating his dragon as the culprit. "Pull up a tail." He invites nonchalantly, while Teisyth croons and wiggles a little under her rider, tail shifting just enough to perhaps be a gesture of invitation. "I told her she should feel comfortable. She says she likes it here best."

Telavi takes a few trial steps towards the younger green; she must have ridden plenty of other dragons in her time, and yet, "If we see Solith in here shortly," she says, "we'll know why. Are you tempted to move back in?" This she asks more of the dragon than the rider, looking at those bright eyes even as she crouches to pet that part of the tail offered up to her.

"She doesn't approve of you sitting on not-her greens?" G'laer inquires, tilting his head just slightly. "She likes her ledge and her couch and several other things I'm not going to name," Because time is of the essence, "But she says this still feels familiar and comfy. Like her favorite pillow." Beat. "Which makes sense since this is where her favorite pillow came from." And has dutifully been replaced. "Anyway. Dragon avians and vtols." Teisyth's head tilts and then snakes down to look at G'laer. "No, not to eat. Not literal avians." The green huffs a little sigh and then looks at Telavi.

"I don't know about that," isn't prevarication, not with the slight suggestion of emphasis on the 'know,' nor with the hint of dimple that precedes, "I expect she might like to do it too." Telavi keeps looking at Teisyth for the moment, Teisyth and her onetime couch and all that stone. "Mmm," for pillow; for avians... nothing now, apparently, though she does wave brightly towards the green before glancing back at G'laer. "So you know the basics," she says, or at least so she might suspect; "What questions do you have?"

"As far as I understand it, it's fairly straight forward. She'll get proddy, I'll probably get proddy, at some point she goes to the feeding grounds and I keep her from eating," Teisyth humphs, "Then she goes up and the boys all chase her. I keep her from going between, one of them catches her. We all do the nasty, and go our separate ways. Or not." G'laer gives the run-down of the basics, and then, "What kinds of questions am I supposed to have?"

"Why do you think you should keep her from eating?" Telavi asks, tucking her braid over her shoulder so she can play with its end, making as though to 'dust' Teisyth's tail if it's still near enough. Beyond that, "I don't very well think 'supposed to' enters into it. You could have none, if you actually have none, and we'd be all done," not to sound hopeful or anything.

"I've heard it described as that she'd feel 'heavy' during flight. Won't fly as high or as long if she eats meat. Not as important for greens, what with there being no eggs, thank Faranth," G'laer's eyes slide toward his lifemate, and likely he's taking a moment to consider Mother Tesiyth, "But still, not recommended. Unless I've misunderstood something?" He allows the possibility as his gaze shifts back to the assistant weyrlingmaster. "What kinds of questions do other weyrlings ask?" Since supposed to doesn't enter into it.

"Thank Faranth," Telavi breathes with him. "Imagine-- no, actually, let's not. Let's stick with the 'still recommended to blood rather than eat,' if only because if she gets caught too low, it's likely to be less fun. Particularly with the greater likelihood of going splat." She lets the tip of her braid linger along the already-streaky tail, pensive, before rousing herself somewhat. "Oh, what you'd guess. Is it true you can't pick. Is it true you won't care. Is it true you can get away with stuff. Is proddiness really worse than getting your period." She doesn't actually smile here, but it's an all too near thing.

"'Splat.'" The word is repeated in a tone that might be dubious, though with G'laer, it's hard to say. He doesn't question it outright, at least. The tail twitches under the braid. It must be because Teisyth is looking at the braid making contact, and not because such a light touch would disturb skin. "She's paying more attention to your hair than to what we're talking about." The man notes next, and the tone implies this is not a good thing. It probably purposefully implies that so he doesn't have to react to talk of gross girly things like periods.

Neither does the twitch of Tela's shoulder elaborate upon anything like a splat. It does make the braid-brush paint a zigzaggy if invisible line. Perhaps she doesn't follow the junior rider's latter implications, or perhaps she herself doesn't yet find that to be a problem. She is, after all, now widening her eyes at him. "Do you feel ready, G'laer?"

"Is anyone ever ready for their first flight?" G'laer questions, tilting his head slightly, the fingers of one hand tap on his dragon's hide. "I'm not concerned about me, really. It will be what it will be. I'm familiar with the logistics of what happens once she's caught and with flight from the outsider's perspective. My mother is a greenrider." After all. "But for her," He glances toward Teisyth whose nose may have inched closer to where Telavi's still brushing her braid across the dragon's tail, "For her this is all completely new. And I know they say it's instinctive for them, but... She's so lacking in any kind of sense about sexual feeling. The way she likes other dragons is so--" He struggles for a moment to find the right word and then decides, "--innocent, it's hard to imagine her going up at all."

"Yes," Telavi promptly says, rhetorical or no. There's no particular comment to his-mother-the-greenrider, just a gleam in her eyes that by contrast she lets pass unvoiced. For that matter, so long as Teisyth hasn't evinced any inclination to sneeze or worse, Telavi continues painting that tail of hers: loops and swirls by now, no sharp angles, only curves. "Solith was that way, for the most part. But when Teisyth does rise, when they do push their... not-innocence... at her-- are you worried for her?"

"Really?" G'laer is doubting now, it's certain. He looks at the younger greenrider, studying her thoughtfully and intensely, perhaps attempting to discern if the assistant is referring to herself or people in general. Teisyth doesn't seem inclined to sneeze, but her tongue has lolled out from one side of her mouth. Tela-beware! "I am." The man's tone is grave. "I don't know what it will be like for her. I don't have a way to prepare her or to help her understand, really. Maybe if I'd brought people back to my weyr, she'd understand a bit better, but..." There hasn't been occasion, he shrugs.

"Really." That's certain too. If Telavi isn't particularly illuminative, neither does she seem shiftily concealing, but then she's preoccupied with shifting the brush-tip back and forth and around and about. She might be glancing at Teisyth's tongue beneath her lashes. She might be preparing herself... in case. "'But'? Why don't you try that, then," she suggests without looking up from her work. "Although if you use, 'So my dragon will understand,' as a pickup line..."

Preparation only has to wait a moment before the tongue is coming. Only, Teisyth's intended target is not Telavi's braid, exactly, but rather the hide that the braid has been brushing across. She licks it, following the trail if it doesn't stop. If the end of Telavi's braid gets caught in the crossfire, that's hardly the dragon's fault. A single brow arches at the 'But' question. Did Tela really expect him to actually answer that one. "You know," Beat, "just because I'm a greenrider doesn't mean I'm inclined to--" He stops. Instead of finding the right words, he makes a gesture in the air with a hand that probably means 'you know.'

Now, that's fascinating. Telavi has to make some of those patterns even more intricate once she catches on, including loopy versions of what might appear only to her as letters that an innocent dragon truly doesn't need to have inscribed on her hide with spit, the greenrider darting her 'brush' away at the last exclamation point of a moment-- which happens to be just barely too late, but sometimes, pushing it means paying the price. Telavi's certainly smiling as she makes to dry the tip of her braid off on her knee, dusting it back and forth so it doesn't frazzle. At first she's still just considering what she's doing, but then her lashes lift, and then her eyes. "It really didn't have anything to do with your being a greenrider," Telavi assures G'laer.

The tongue follows all the tracing, not seeming to really be aware when she catches the braid just a little, Teisyth's focus is on the hide which gets licked again, smoothing over all the spots more uniformly. G'laer watches her, "Even if it didn't. I don't just roll around for the sake of it." His eyes flick up to the greenrider, "As you might imagine, I'm well acquainted with the inherent risks." He shifts slightly in his seat against the green. "And I'm sure you know I have ten sisters. And fathered twins." This is surely meant to illustrate how the hazards might be greater for him than some others.

There's a moment where Telavi could dart her braid-tip over the smoothed-over surface once again... but perhaps she doesn't want to get more spit on it, or perhaps she wants Teisyth to have her way. Or perhaps G'laer's dilemma is just that enthralling. "I have heard that," she says gravely in her turn. "I'd say, that's what between is for-- but I expect you know that, and options that don't risk that, even before you get to men." If G'laer ever gets to men. "At least, with a little self-control." Surely that's not the man's issue?

"You know," He starts again, trying for a different angle on the same issue, "I know I'm weyrbred, but there are weyrbred men who aren't just looking to get off. Or to show their dragon first-hand what sex is. There's no saying it would even work." G'laer glances to the tail-tending green. "Then I'll have gotten myself bound up in something for no reason."

It's not that Telavi looks at G'laer as though he's grown a third head, but there is a certain amount of, let's face it, surprise. She manages not to ask-- just to make sure-- whether he himself is indeed one of these hypothetical men. She even manages not to repeat 'bound up' under her breath, though her lips do shape it with silent hilarity; it may help that he's looking towards Teisyth, then, that lets her say with recovered composure, "No, no saying that it would... work." There might be the tiniest twitch to her mouth. "Which would appear to leave 'not worrying about it until later,' so she doesn't worry too."

"That's the plan." G'laer agrees, shifting to rise off his seat. "So is there anything in particular she should know?" He nods toward the green as his fingers brush his trousers free of wrinkles. "That she might have a chance of understanding before it comes on her, that is," Though since they're talking sex, it requires him to look at the green dubiously. Or maybe the dubiousness is because she's stopped licking her tail and is rubbing her teeth across it. Maybe it still tickles. Or maybe it just does in her head.

Telavi's certainly joined in all this dubious-looking, though she's leaning forward slightly even from her crouch: she'd like to be able to help-- but. "I don't know that she'd notice? Or remember? But if she does notice that she's acting differently, and if that bothers her... maybe it would help to hear now that it's normal, she'll be okay afterward." Because let's not talk about 'not okay afterward.' "Um, and you might get a bit of balm. With numbweed. For after, in case. For her, I mean."

"Maybe I can find her a green to talk to just after she's risen, while she still remembers." G'laer suggests after a moment of thought. "But, she'll only forget." He sighs. Dragon memories, so problematic. He steps then over to the green's head, laying a hand on one of her knobs and giving it a little shake. "Cut it out. You're going to rub it raw." His tone is even, and suddenly she's crooning softly and lidding her eyes almost all the times they can be lidded. The 'Sorry, G'laer!' might as well be audible.

Telavi can sigh, at least, and does so-- with sympathy even. It's when she continues to keep an eye on the pair that subtle discomfort enters her now low-lidded gaze; she's quick to stand now that she's decided to, to turn away and to stretch. "At least," she offers without looking back, "you've Southern to look forward to, with actual outsized avians for the hunting... though I can't say that their vtols will be any use. Good luck." With hunting or-- something. Now she does glance back: distracted and done? Or done.

"Mm," is G'laer's rather noncommittal response to the talk of Southern's avians and vtols. His gaze doesn't leave Teisyth's. "Thanks." That might be for the luck or maybe for the talk. Either way, he doesn't seem inclined to drag it out.