Difference between revisions of "Logs:Waking Up"

K'zin & Telavi

The time coming off the fellis was the worst. The begging probably got old first and swiftly the anger and the sullen silent treatment that followed refusals. Was it made better by the fact that K'zin seemed an entirely different person, right down to the way he was too sweet if he thought that would work better.

Even after, he still used it, just not every night. After was after Rasavyth would bar the way, despite the discomfort it caused him. His explanation was simple. « He must do this on his own. » Which really meant with him. And even if it hurt the people who were so good to him in all that time, wasn't it better? Couldn't they see the need for it?

The bronze relented after two sevens of solitude. And it was he who reached. « Solith, » The ooze was still fragile, more like frost etched on windows than the sinuous warmth of bygone days. « My K'zin wishes she come for dinner. Will she? » Simple, straight-forward. He did as much listening as ever, but his words were fewer for now.

Not fun at all. Not better. Not that Telavi had fellis, or access to fellis, but this was one time when being known to be persuasive worked against her; it might not have been impossible to convince Jinja, for one, and gotten the apprentice into trouble with her if -- when -- they were found out. But she hadn't tried, hadn't wanted to, had shaken her head with heartbreak in her eyes and stubbornness to her spine and the wall to hold her up when she wanted to give in. On some level it might have come as a guilty relief, whether she wanted to admit it or not, those two sevens of not going and not having to go. Even knowing where she was leaving him.

Should she have talked her way in, after all?

Either way, she hadn't.

Either way, he wouldn't have let her.

Now there's a pause before Solith replies, and when she does, her springtime sunlight's filtered so as not to melt-- or blind; « I will bring her. » She doesn't ask, perhaps has been forestalled from asking, whether they should bring anything else. Whatever undertones there are on the breeze, it's a passing thing, zephyr-light: light as her fully intact wings when the time comes to emerge from between, the setting sun shining through their translucency. Telavi's skirt is light too, tea-length and many-petaled, full enough to ride astride; her eyes-- less so.

K'zin is waiting within the weyr. If she'd been able to see him as she came along, she'd have seen the way he rose and resettled in fits of impatience and nervousness. The way he tracked the emptiness at the entrance and gave up only to have his eyes wander back after finding nothing else had changed in the moments he'd been focused there. Dinner is on the table. Nothing elaborate, nothing fancy, just standard Telgari fare from the living cavern, but on two plates with two glasses, his of a clear glass with what is almost certainly water (maybe vodka, but probably water). He's settled himself again though by the time she appears, Rasavyth, this time, moved to one side. It's not particularly welcoming although he does accord Solith a weak flash of fondness in greeting, but it's certainly not the fearsome beast who guarded the figurative gates from sevens before. K'zin pops onto his feet, one hand gripping the back of his chair, but there's no waver in his rise, no tell-tales of the recent or lingering effects of fellis. True, he's thinner, paler, still not wholly himself, but he's no crazed ghost either. "Tela," it comes unbidden to his lips on an exhale. His gaze is weighty on her, expression uncertain, and maybe even a little awkward. Should he go to her? Would she want him to after everything?

Solith's expressive in return, glad to meet up with Rasavyth but careful, so careful; she gives him more room than known to be necessary even now, not even coming near the boundaries. Sensitive to his moods, she'd given him space even after he hadn't been in such pain, getting to know the locals-- and their ledges-- better until it became almost an extension of home. As for Telavi... Telavi might be looking for that ghost, paused in the entry, her attention fully on K'zin. It's not just her attire that's different; there's her hair, now worn in a smooth coil at the nape of her neck rather than the simplest of plaits she'd frequented over the past few months. It's still not so intricate as she'd played with before the accident, and she hasn't chosen to wear his hairstick tonight... but after that long moment she seems to remember she can smile, and mean it. "It's good to see you," she says, though quietly. Good to see him like this. Good to the point where she walks towards him, slowly and carefully, slowly enough to intercept.

There's another exhale from K'zin, this one of quiet relief. Following her lead, he moves to meet her, slowly. Despite how he places his feet carefully, the fact that it takes effort for him to do this instead of running to her is evident in each step. It likewise must take restraint when instead of throwing his arms around her, he stops just before meeting her and spreads his own in offer, but allowing her the choice. He even tries not to look at her with intense longing of a variety that might be inadvertently coercive. Tries.

Slowly becomes less than slowly becomes, when he opens his arms, Telavi's walking straight into them.

Arms immediately enfold her, for once in these many months, him holding her instead of the other way around. True, the embrace might feel a little like an echo of his former hugs, but he's there, head bent to press lips against her forehead and he just holds her there, until she's ready to move. Then, of course, he's hoping to find her willingly kissable, even if his own advance has a touch of the tentative.

If it's an echo, it's one that she welcomes; after he kisses her forehead, she rests there for a few moments-- close, close-- then leans onto her toes to, yes, kiss him back: with relief and tenderness and then as though it had been months instead of sevens. Maybe in some ways it had; while she's not seeking the taste of fellis, no doubt she'd recognize it by now. Eventually she breathes his name against his lips; and then Telavi's hands rise from K'zin's shoulders, not into his hair, but to frame his dear face and let her seek out those brown eyes. To renew that connection, to see him afresh... though some part of her may yet wonder if that too-sweetness has after all returned.

There is no taste of fellis to be found in his kiss that becomes if not hungrier, more passionate after the initial moments of uncertainty. He's not entirely willing to part lips when she wants to whisper his name and hold his face, but he doesn't press his luck by doing more than just being sluggish about the departure of lips from lips. His eyes don't hesitate to meet hers. They're not the too-sweetness look, but they're not the same as Before. There's a depth there that wasn't before, an undefined sadness, whose source she might guess at, but doesn't seem to be a conscious part of his look, just something that lives there now, in the depths of his eyes. He remains silent, his hands not leaving her hips where they settled at the end of the kiss. If the silence goes on, the words come through a rough voice: "Hungry?"

She sees it, sees him; her own expression alters subtly, teeth pressing for a moment into that well-kissed lower lip. "We should eat," Tela confirms-- but then she presses close to kiss him again.

It would take more strength of will than K'zin probably possesses to deny either her press or her kiss. Fortunately, surrender only takes a toll on the heat of the food on the plates, a sacrifice they're probably both willing to make. Of course, if she's not the one to make the move to stop, they're going to soon be moving to the bed and the food will be cold by the time the bronzerider is prepared to come up for air.

'Stop' is in Telavi's vocabulary; that's been proven at least a time or two. Or more, for fun. Just now, though, that word just doesn't appear to be relevant; it's not like it's summertime, where the food might go bad. Though even if it were-- this reunion might be forgiven their own, intimate priorities.

The end finds K'zin's arms around Telavi, the man keeping her close against him, breath still coming raggedly and heartbeat still finding a slower rhythm. One hand strokes her certainly disheveled hair, slow and methodical. "I love you." His voice comes slowly. Too many times that phrase was abused, but it doesn't sound like those times, except that the words are the same.

She's still a moment, down to her own breath-- maybe she's hearing those other times, hopefully she's hearing how it is different-- but it's not a long moment, she has to let that much go, and she has to reassure him and maybe herself, "I love you, too." Hers is soft. This time there's neither the pained 'and I won't' of denial, nor the sporadic silence but for, sometimes, the unwilling tears that went with it. She stays close, entwined with him, drifting even softer kisses along the nearby skin that she can reach. Drifting, unhurried; all too aware that they really don't have all the time in the world. Whispered between his jaw and his ear, "I missed you."

Her words cause an exhale that's almost a sigh but definitely relief. It makes him draw her closer. He doesn't have words to answer that last. Surely, he missed her too, in his own way, if he was even still in there somewhere. But it's not easy to parse that part of the past, so he just stays silent, giving a reassuring squeeze to answer her words. He turns his head some moments later to press a kiss to her temple, "We should eat," the murmur is soft, and not wholly committed to the idea.

She doesn't always need words, even when she's not still flushed with intimacies physical and otherwise; here in his arms, given that response of his, nothing disturbs her relaxation. Not even food, though hunger might in time, not even the associated prospect of getting up. "Soon," she suggests, with an attendant caress. Though later, with a touch of still-dreamy humor as she begins to stretch and then sit up, "We don't have to get dressed." Before, Telavi might have hopped up to bring the meal back for them both; as it is... eating at an actual table instead of an invalid's bed might be a welcome change, even if she does seem inclined to steal the sheet.

"That," K'zin questions after a lazy stretch of his own and with a pointed finger that revolves from its curled-fingered axis, "-doesn't count as dressed?" The cock of his brow and faint curl to his lips have a familiar quality lacking in bygone days, if with a touch more self-possession and less carefree freedom. But the cavern is warm, so there's no fight for ownership of the sheet, and even Madilla's quilt is spared the possibility of stains as K'zin abandons the bed in favor of the table dressed in only his dusky skin.

"No-o," teases Tela with a glance over one bare shoulder-- especially when the flick of her fingers reveals curves beyond just that shoulder, if still one-sided. "If I wouldn't wear it to the living cavern," at least not disheveled like this, "it really shouldn't count." By the time he gets to the table, she's slid her chair to sit just around the corner from him, no longer across. Certainly his own dishabille can't be a problem; even as she employs her napkin, as she serves and begins to eat, her eyes seek him out again and again as though to ascertain anew that he's real. But what she asks is, "Do you miss High Reaches' cooking?"

"If you did wear it to the living cavern..." K'zin begins with a speculative edge, but then doesn't pursue the thought. Instead, he slides into his chair, helpfully pulling the long-cooled plates of food over to suit Tela's new arrangement of the furnishings. The bronzerider is not lacking in table-manners, spreading his own napkin across his lap, but perhaps it's only the half formed thought to protect his important parts from hot food, of which there is none, now, of course. The preservation instinct obviously hasn't caught up to the conscious realization of just how long they were in bed. His eyes rise to meet hers after the first bite is in his mouth. "It depends," gets out before he thinks to chew and swallow. "Are we talking 'Reaches cooking normally or 'Reaches cooking when there's nothing but stew?" Each of the last three words is enunciated carefully and said with the inflection of one much put upon to bear with such gastronomic hardship. He even, if briefly, affects a matching harrowed look, even if it doesn't reach and light his eyes as it might once have done.

Such a sacrifice Telavi and K'zin had made, to postpone their meal and thus save their napkins-- and, fine, body parts-- from the dangers of heated food! "I should hope normal cooking," Tela says now with a sniff, and though his eyes hadn't lit up, hers hold silent appreciation for his attempt. "Otherwise the answer would be far too easy... unless your teeth fell out when I wasn't looking?" She glances askance at him now, her lips sucked in for a moment to hide her own dentition.

Even if Tela didn't mean it as a prompt, the suggestion is too much for a man like K'zin to even subconsciously ignore. He flashes a smile with teeth to the greenrider to allay any doubts. "In that case, I guess I miss it, not that Telgar's fare is wanting in tastiness." Maybe the lip smack that follows his next bite is to lend credence to this all-important point. "Though, I'm not sure it's worth my energy to miss it. It's not like I can be there instead of here just because I'd rather 'Reaches roast on my plate." Still, the plate before him gets a long look, as if the mentioned meal might manifest.

"There is that," Telavi murmurs-- so practical!-- now that she's been duly relieved, not to mention nearly blinded, by the show of toothy brilliance. She adds, "Taking it between just wouldn't be the same," while gazing into thin air for a moment; perhaps it's less of a giveaway than a smile would have been, when it comes to showing up another time with some of that roast in a bread-bowl. And with that, she gets back to eating Telgar's fare. After some time, she adds in some tidbits of news about people they both know while keeping track of him in case it's too much, just starting to get towards Savannah--

It might be that K'zin misses her look, or that he doesn't quite know what to say next. Maybe he's just hungry after the calorie-burning appetizer, but in any case he remains silent (except for chewing) until she's relating news. When there's a breath he can interrupt in, he confesses, "Everything before the last few sevens is a jumble. Is- Did K'del come by? Was he mad I missed Isyath's hatching? Was Ali? Am I a disgrace to the Weyr? Will he let me come back to 'Reaches when we're better?" It all comes out in a rush, and the concern is obviously genuine.

What? Telavi puts down her glass to look at him in astonishment, quickly swallowing-- too quickly, for then she's coughing, though it's only a few times before she recovers herself enough to speak. "Oh, K'zin! Of course he came by," and she's already reaching for his hand. "He's not mad at you. Of course he's not, neither of them are," and neither is she, never mind that whole denial-anger-bargaining-and-so-forth sequence, that was forever ago! Quietly, intensely, "He came by several times and he was worried for you and he had Cadejoth ask too. He wants you back just as soon as you're well, well enough." It's a wonder her hair doesn't spike with all that emphasis and sincerity.

When Telavi starts coughing, K'zin is pushing onto his feet, reaching a hand toward her shoulder, concern wrinkling his brow. It's a turnaround from Tela being the one with the concerned look and the jump-to reaction when the illness was particularly violent. Once it's apparent that she's alright, his fingers curl to gently squeeze before he's settling back into his seat to listen. His hand is there for her and his fingers slip into hers. The way he watches the greenrider as she forms each emphasized word shows him to be receptive to what she tells him. There's a slow nod, followed by a soft sigh that doesn't seem to relieve any tension, and then a silence full of things going unsaid.

His fingers slip into hers and are clasped there, and her bare toes find his, because. The silence continues for a long moment after that sigh, and then another; Telavi could draw it out further, could attempt to distract with lighter talk, could ask outright or even try to demand-- but instead, softly, "Your mother came to you too. Your aunt." Nazius can stay unsaid.

"She did? They did?" This seems to surprise the bronzerider and his brow furrows, expression turning concerned. "That... can't have been good," he decides after a moment.

"Of course they did," sort of like how of course K'del did, only this is different from even that. Tela doesn't ask why it couldn't have been good, instead heading right into, "It wasn't good-good, because you were hurting so... but it was good anyway, they waited days to get to see you, K'zin. Your mother, she was crying and hoping you would be all right," and that last part might have been reading between the lines a bit, but surely only a bit?

K'zin's eyes close and he looks deeply troubled. There is silence and more silence.

Telavi bites her lip against more words, can't help but lean towards him-- but-- silence. She holds his hand. She can let there be silence. Silence until, so quietly, "What's wrong about that?"

"My mother has seen too many tears already." K'zin's reply is equally quiet. He opens his eyes and regards Telavi a long moment before adding, "She's been different since my father died. Erratic." He qualifies, reaching for his glass and its bland contents with his free hand. "She was coming quite close to losing her knot at the end of last turn. Kept abandoning her duties at her post, and..." Then he shakes his head, "Not important. I just don't like having caused her more tears." Something there seems to have reminded him, "Oh, hey, did Waz Impress?" Maybe it's not meant to be the obvious topic change it seems to be.

Oh. It's inaudible, given shape but not sound by Tela's lips; she's poised between something and something else, listening, the beginnings of realization darkening her eyes. Her breath draws further in instead of out. Until-- her slight headshake might refer to Wazan or might be pushing it all away-- "I'm so sorry." On top of everything else. "I had no--" End of last Turn. After... "--idea." It's not that she lets go, it's that her fingers slacken when she turns her head, eyes closing momentarily. "But you'd know that. What am I saying. That sounds so hard." Even without whatever's after that trailed-off 'and.'

"It was too hard to talk about at the time." But now he's had months of 'too hard to talk about' and that throws things into perspective. "That's how I ended up at Fort. Both times. Someone had seen her leave the Hall with a Fortian rider with a rough reputation. Being the only one with a dragon," Of the children, "I went to find her and before I knew it, Ras was blooding and-" K'zin shrugs away any care or responsibility. "He always gets what he wants from me. He wanted to chase. There wasn't a choice." He drums the fingers of his free hand on the table-top. "A lot of things are hard." And that's just how it goes.

Telavi can nod to that, and does, only then he keeps explaining and-- this time the inward tug of her breath is quick and audible; if she were actually trying to be impassive and impervious, Savannah might be disappointed in its newest recruit, for she's not exactly doing a stellar job. She scoots her chair to a better angle, switches hands. "So she's-- all this is happening--" and Wakina's a grown woman but might have lost her knot-- "and all the time they were getting on your case for being there, you were keeping mum--" only then color floods her cheeks at what must have been accidental phrasing.

"I told K'del," He admits. "After Elaruth's flight. That's why my punishment was light. But letting the danger be known publicly would've been as bad or worse than the things she was doing to get things that bad to begin with. So..." K'zin shrugs. It was what it was. He squeezes her hand. "I'll find out what's going on the next time one of them is up this way, or when I can get a letter to them," which means he hasn't gotten one to them yet. In all these months. So they probably only know what Telavi has told them, if anything.

Telavi's nodding, agreeing, the more so for how old pieces are falling into place-- then, "About that," she says, a touch of diffidence matching her slight shrug. "I know the Madelyn's route, if that's any help." She's corresponded with Kinai now and again, not often, almost always when there's improvement and she can write breezily enough to lift spirits yet factually enough to be true. Which is to say, not in recent sevens.

"Um." There's obvious hesitance and blinking. "Nno." The 'N' is too long. Suspiciously so. "That's alright. I'm sure I'll manage." Which is to say that K'zin might not have any intention of sending anything to anyone at all.

It's the first time in a very long time that even an inkling of a dimple has emerged. "One of these days," Telavi agrees, even more transparently than he if that's possible. "So..." and here she squeezes his hand, "is there anything else about that just now? Or," as the slight nudge of her chair might suggest, might they be done at the table?

K'zin manages an innocent sounding, "Mmhm," in answer to the timing. She's onto him and his light blush shows he knows it. If Telavi enjoyed making him blush Before, she might enjoy it even more now because it makes him look healthy and alive. "Nothing important." This is decided quickly since his plate is long since made bare and water glass empty. He doesn't need to slip his hand from hers to stand, so he doesn't. "Will you stay a while?"

That enjoyment hasn't so much as diminished, given the way Tela's smile lights up; healthy and alive are, yes, good. She seems to take this second 'not important' at face value, though there is an added upward tug to her lips; then again, that might have to do with how she's rising, too. Far more pleased than grave, "I will." And if it jeopardizes the stability of the sheet arrangement, especially since she keeps holding his hand rather than hike it up, she can run with it.

K'zin & T'volt

It was harder with T'volt. Harder because K'zin wanted to catch him alone, but not ambush him. But ambush seemed to be the only way it really worked, not that Rasavyth didn't politely inform Nicaith that the man was on T'volt's ledge. And indeed, there was K'zin when the bronze pair returned, as freshly bathed as the arrival allowed for, hair, grown long to the middle of his neck still damp but combed and in laundered clothing that if not crisp is at least neat, even if they sag on him a little more than they ought. He's far from emaciated, but the muscle definition has gentled probably more than he'd like if he's aware of it. He's sitting cross-legged close to the curtained entrance, his grey winter coat pulled around him to guard against the chill of the spring air moving across the ledge.

"Who took you?" is the first thing T'volt says once he's swung down to stone. It may be brusque but to it he adds, "You know you don't have to wait out here," as he heads down the familiar path into his weyr. Even if the other man doesn't know, just now.

"Kylie," comes the answer. Surely, by now it's no secret that they are friends, so hitching a ride to the bronzerider's ledge shouldn't seem odd for any reason but that K'zin hasn't ventured out much, as yet. The answer coincides with the younger man scrambling to his feet, and nearly tripping on himself to follow, "I didn't." Know. K'zin does point this out, a little awkward. "I don't have a lot of clear memories from the past few months," which is easily marked as a truthful admission, "-but I'm pretty sure I've been a dick for at least some of them." He comes to a stop some feet away from the other man. "I'm sorry." This too sounds sincere, even if it's not dressed up with other pretty words.

T'volt's got a nod for Kylie along the way, that's all-- taking it in both literal and figurative stride-- and once he's in his weyr, turns to look at K'zin rather than flop down on the couch, thumbs stationing themselves in his pockets. "Yeah, pretty much." The apology gets a nod, too. "You had a lot of shit going on." He's apologized for Nicaith's share in the accident before, when K'zin was conscious even, more than once; he doesn't revisit it now.

Boys are simple. "Yeah, but it's not what you signed up for." At least awareness of this managed to penetrate somewhere along the way, "Are we-- do you want to be done with me or can I find ways to make it up to you?" The question is simply put even if it's a heavy question. K'zin's hands remain hanging at his sides, not defensive, not overly nervous now that the question's been posed. It's out of K'zin's control now, after all.

"Yeah." Maybe they can have a drink for every time one of them says that word, and that'll take care of everything right there. T'volt says it plainly, no bristling, no diffidence; but then, much of the time, he was there: mostly freely, sometimes persuaded or even browbeaten, arguments kept out of K'zin's vicinity but also not transforming the man into some soft-eyed healer. How he explained it to his other friends-- but for now, "Are you going to get... freaky on me again?" If there's a slight pause for the word, slight dissatisfaction, it's brief. "Men that desperate for their drink, K'zin, that comes off a whole lot better in Harper dramas. I'd started to think I should hide the valuables." That last is dry; T'volt's place, it isn't much for things that'd bring a lot of marks.

K'zin at least looks ashamed when the question is posed in return. "Not... planning on it." At least it's not a promise. "Can't say things've been easy the past few sevens and I don't know that I'm--" He has to hesitate, because how do you say it? No doubt the word is supplied to him, "Rehabilitated completely. But I'm trying." His best. His eyes rise from where they'd wandered on the floor to regard the other bronzerider.

T'volt nods, once. Then he heads for the ledge, though not until after his pushing-air gesture says to stay put. When he returns, it's with a couple of beers, still cool from the barely-spring air; he pauses to pop the one open before giving it to K'zin, taking the other towards his customary end of the couch, though he doesn't yet sit. Then again, he has his own to open.

K'zin does as he's told, lingering where he stopped. His eyes follow T'volt's departure and return. The beer is a promising sign, even if it's not a tearful reunion. The 'Reaches man follows T'volt toward the couch, but stops behind him rather than moving to take a seat, and he waits, taking a sip from the bottle.

After pocketing the corks, it's the arm of his couch that T'volt turns to sit on, or rather lean on; he drinks, slowly, then glances at K'zin. "Have you been back to High Reaches yet?" Not with Rasavyth, of course. "Seen what has-- or hasn't, I suppose-- moved into your weyr?"

Well, that's not entirely conducive to K'zin's plans and he looks awkward a moment because of it. The awkward is given over to sipping on the beer. He shakes his head. "No. I'm not ready to go back without him. Tela mentioned she'd kept an eye on things." He rocks onto his toes briefly then back to his heels. "I could start making things up to you now," he offers then, glancing.

There's no argument about readiness from T'volt; if anything, there's understanding more than just acceptance. For K'zin's place, with a shrug, "I gave her a hand moving some of it into the back rooms, once they said it'd be more than a couple sevens." For K'zin to be physically capable of going without his dragon, willingness aside; of course, even that left plenty of time and room to move in given the rest of the cavernous space. "You'll be all set for your next party," is close to familiar jocularity. It's followed by, "Have a seat."

"Maybe I'll have one for my triumphant return," The humor is weak, but K'zin's trying. Trying. He nods to T'volt's instruction, moving to the couch and settling, far enough displaced from T'volt's customary place that there's enough room for him to assume it should he wish to. "Thanks. For helping move the stuff." He adds after a sip. Then, "What else do I have to thank you for?" Which sounds a lot like 'what else have I missed or might I not remember?' without saying in so many words.

"Do it up like the infirmary, bleached sheets everywhere," T'volt can play along. "A little redwort in a bowl for that special smell." He reaches down one-handed to undo his near boot, a quick, economical gesture, so he can prop his foot on the couch's seat. Then he looks at K'zin. Another of those brief shrugs disclaims thanks, a touch awkwardly-- unusually-- so. "We weren't sure you were going to make it," he says in the end.

K'zin is obviously uncertain how to respond to that last, so he drinks his beer. "Well, hopefully you won't have cause to regret that I have." He moves a hand to push through the longish locks before the hand settles on his thigh and rubs there a moment. "Is there a cover story I should be aware of?" For why T'volt was spending so much time with him in the past months.

Drinking the beer: always a good fallback move, right? Though T'volt shows every sign of relishing his when he gets back to it, surfacing to look at K'zin again, speculatively. "Do you mean, did I say, 'We were hanging out and Nic whammed into his dragon and his girlfriend made me feel guilty'?" He tacks on a grumpy, sulky face while he's at it, holding it for a moment before dropping into what might normally be a smirk. It isn't. "Yeah. Except minus the eyerolling and being made to do anything." Mostly.

The wince isn't as well hidden as K'zin might like by the swig from his own beer, but the attempt to cover it is made anyway. "Yeah, something like that," comes as more of a mutter than a real comment back and a moment later he's clearing his throat and angling to change the topic with the very obvious, "So how are things for you otherwise? I miss anything exciting?"

T'volt, not so readily redirected, though he does leave a pause for dealing with his other boot; swiveling to sit sideways on the couch's arm, facing K'zin, he sets one foot square in the middle of that customary spot while the other knee becomes support for his beer. "There's no cover story, K'zin." He's looking right at the other man. "My wingsecond handled rescheduling, and he knows why. Probably it's gotten around some," but he shrugs; it's not like he's ever tried to conceal when K'zin does or doesn't leave his ledge, and it's not as though whatever other wild tales he'd cooked up had survived to be believed. "It's not that complicated."

Even though T'volt's never tried to conceal such matters, the other bronzerider's words have K'zin's eyes blinking in what must be surprise. It's not the overly obvious version of the emotion and again that beer is being called upon to give K'zin a moment to process. "Oh," is the brilliant response he comes up with. Brown gaze settles on T'volt a moment later, "I guess I always thought you kept these things-" liaisons with other attractive men, "-a secret." Which is one step beyond the Down Low.

"Outside of Weyrs, yeah." T'volt keeps it matter-of-fact, washing it down with a swallow of his own beer. "Inside," he contemplates K'zin further before saying, "I suppose you wouldn't have noticed because it's not like I go around introducing people all, 'We get along and we get it on. Thought you should know!'" It could be sarcastic; it isn't, and neither is, "Is that a problem?"

K'zin's eyes rise to meet T'volt's just before the question is posed. They stay there through the brief silence that follows. Though perhaps an immediate answer might have been preferable, at least K'zin's silence and thoughtful look show that he's giving the question its due before glancing away and taking a swallow. "No, I suppose not." Not that there's much he could do about it now if it were. This new revelation does lead him to wonder aloud after his next sip, "I wonder if the rumor has reached 'Reaches. I've really only spoken of you to a couple people with tight lips, and there's only been that one other guy, and he's definitely not telling anyone." Of this much, K'zin seems certain.

The way T'volt waits, there's no hurry; much longer, and he might even have gone for another pair of beers. It's that glance away that draws his beer-holding hand from knee to mid-thigh, though, although he doesn't cross his arms. "No idea. It's not like I went to spill details." Neither detailing drama, nor making it seem the sort of dramatic secret they'd die to know. It's his turn to exhale, to look away before his gaze returns to K'zin. "The healers knew you wanted me there, in that bed with you. I've a wing to report to, it's not like all I have to do is--" His mouth tightens momentarily. "If that was going to happen at the right time, I had to clear that time, and I picked the wingsecond that was going to make that happen."

"I didn't really expect..." It's a murmur of a thought that isn't finished. Instead, K'zin's beer is polished off, and- "I'm sorry." Again. Still. He falls silent, letting his regard to fall to the beer bottle in his hands. He twists it this way and that, maybe looking for some stray drop that has been missed, or maybe just finding it easier to look at than T'volt.

After a beat, "C'mon," says the Telgari; by way of demonstration, he taps his foot on the part of the couch nearest him before lifting it to make room.

There's hesitation before K'zin looks T'volt's way, despite the warmer tones. But those are enough to bait brown eyes into turning toward the other man, and he takes in the gesture. His gaze is considering a moment, the way a canine might look uncertainly at the hand that just swatted him with a sheaf of hides for one indiscretion or another. But the look is brief and passes as swiftly as it came before he shifts over to the indicated place. In so doing, he twists slightly to angle his torso toward the Telgari man, tilting his chin to look up at him.

That near hand's busy taking custody of the drunk-down beer, if only long enough for T'volt to wedge the bottle in the couch's inner corner. He leans down to K'zin, then, that hand holding onto the couch's back as the other reaches for the younger man's far shoulder, to keep or even accentuate that angle. Dark eyes intent, "Listen. K'zin. You got fucked over; it is not your fault." T'volt's voice stays low in pitch, relatively low in volume, but definite in timbre. He keeps looking at K'zin, right at him. He doesn't loosen his grip.

The pose, were someone to sketch the bronzeriders at this precise moment, would be all too telling about their relationship on the whole. Though it may not be clear to those holding the pose, to an onlooker it would be only too obvious that K'zin has innate trust in T'volt. That if T'volt asked K'zin to stand in a field over which Thread was set to fall, he'd do it (if he didn't have Rasavyth to stop him), not because he blindly follows instructions but because the trust he has in him is that great. As such, K'zin's gaze is steady as he looks up at T'volt and there's only half a heartbeat's hesitation before he's slowly nodding; that there is any hesitation at all speaks volumes for the conflicting inner feelings that are not voiced (because they're Men after all). He stays silent in his nodding, expression gradually shifting to uncertainty. It's not about what T'volt has said, but rather how to proceed from here.

It's the shift of expression that has T'volt returning that nod, more firmly than the other man, and then reaching for what might be a familiar ruffling of his hair-- except for how that back-and-forth leads right into T'volt's taking a handful of the hair at K'zin's nape, tightening his grasp. "So you remember that. Even when I'm not around," he says, face to face. "Even when I'm not-- easy." To get along with. Or whatever.

That's perhaps one of the very few up-sides to this whole ordeal: K'zin's hair is longer than usual, so it's exceptionally easy to keep a hold of. He doesn't resist how the grab puts him better aligned with T'volt; now is not the time for playful resistance. He starts to nod, without thinking, but that pulls at the hair and he freezes before retracing his figurative steps, making the tension lessen. There are obvious quips to make here, 'Sometimes I like to work for it,' or 'Well, it wouldn't do to be too easy,' but K'zin doesn't say anything. It's too easy to try to change the topic to something lighter, easier, but this isn't the moment for that either. He just continues to meet T'volt's eyes, his breath settling to a more even, slow, and controlled rhythm.

Several breaths after that rhythm's begun-- after it's established as being such-- T'volt exhales more deeply; he eases his grip, less letting go than loosening. Somewhat. Enough to slide his hold down from K'zin's neck to his shoulder; T'volt straightens. "So, yeah. Nothing exciting." That K'zin missed; the Telgari doesn't mess around with making things up, though he does rotate his hand, rubbing his knuckles familiarly into the softened muscle of the other man's shoulder before moving to stand and head unhurriedly towards the inner room. "Not much for memories, huh?" he asks along the way, glancing back. "What do you remember?"

K'zin's eyes follows T'volt when he straightens, nothing to what he didn't miss. Predictably, he leans into the touch, but when T'volt stands, K'zin is quick to do the same. Of course, once he is on his feet, he looks a great deal less certain. He watches the other man move across the room, but he remains where he is perhaps not being sure of his welcome. Still, eyes follow T'volt. "Pain." It is, perhaps, the predictable answer but it's also an honest one. "That you were there. And Tela. That I wanted fellis. To sleep. To be numb." There is a brief glance toward the ledge in the sky beyond, "And some other things he doesn't see fit to elaborate on just now. Or possibly ever.

There get to be splashing sounds, visible if the angle's right: T'volt's stripped off his shirt, employing a washcloth where it's most needed after a day's sweeps. "How're you holding up now?" It could be facile; it's not, and the question cuts two ways.

The angle might not have been right, but K'zin certainly shifted when T'volt wasn't immediately returning. The answer starts while he's still lingering in the outer room. "I've been better." An honest answer. "But I've also been a lot worse." More honesty. It's after that that his bootfalls can be heard crossing into the inner room and he approaches T'volt tentatively at the wash basin, one hand reaching, after he's a step away from the Telgari, for the washcloth. "I'm still working on better." He's not there yet, but he'll take the washcloth and tend T'volt as the man might have tended him, if the bronzerider will let him.

That nearer shift hadn't been unwelcome or unexpected, if T'volt's having glanced at him in the mirror and continued without a missed beat was any indication; something about his stance settles further as he works-- as K'zin approaches, and explains, and receives a grunt of acknowledgment-- as though cleansing himself also quiets some of that inner turbulence. Perhaps unaware of the symmetry, it's an automatic gesture to keep the reached-for washcloth with, "Almost done;" as he's wringing it out in the basin, though, he gets another look at K'zin. There's the briefest of pauses. "What you could do." A few more swipes finish what he'd started, in deeds if not yet in words, before he puts the cloth away for good. "Pinged something, here-ish," and T'volt reaches back to point to one side of his spine south of the shoulderblade, "tighter than a headwoman's purse strings. Think you can pop it for me?"

The withdrawal of K'zin's hand is as one singed, pulling abruptly back to his own chest, fingers curling in when the wash cloth is not surrendered. The reactionary look of hurt is fleeting, gone by then's eyes have fallen from T'volt to the floor, his head bowed. This is about when the other man looks at him. The look is as brief as the Telgari's pause, eyes drawing back up, the look less hopeful than soulful in the way K'zin's eyes have taken to being after everything and he waits. Once the task is offered, the 'Reaches rider is nodding, "Sure," then, "I can try at any rate." Previous attempts have occasionally resulted in failure, but as ever K'zin is willing. He waits for the other bronzerider to turn toward him to take the necessary step forward and reach to encircle T'volt's torso. His movements are careful, perhaps still unsure if they are still lovers or not, but in between attempts, when he's repositioning his hands, they experimentally stray more than is strictly necessary. Even if T'volt reacts poorly to it, at least it might clue the poor clueless K'zin as to approximately where he figuratively stands.

His own, brisk nod confirms it-- perhaps the more brisk for how T'volt finds himself less than invulnerable around those soulful eyes-- and the Telgari duly presents himself; certainly the first squeeze is no success despite his stifled grunt, for then there wouldn't be another, and between there's a low, only half-unwillingly amused comment of, "Good thing I hadn't put my shirt on." The fresh and far nicer than strictly necessary shirt, lying there on the bed in all its as yet uncreased glory. Or at least, with l-words staying unspoken, it's that comment and the not at all unwillingly amused line, "Harder." That will, T'volt can hope, do at least one job.

Fortunately for T'volt, K'zin is either unaware of the vulnerability, or uninterested in taking advantage of it. "If it needs a tasteful wrinkle," K'zin begins, loosening his arms and letting them slide to T'volt's waist as he leans back just enough to imply impending release, "I can always let you put it on." The offer is made gingerly, with humor, but less carefreely than might have been familiar to exchanges Before.

Surely it's not solely the threat to his future sartorial splendor that induces T'volt to crook a brow at the other man, for though he does reach for K'zin's biceps, he doesn't actually forestall the maneuver. After that fraction of a moment where it becomes clear to everyone that K'zin's only moving 'just enough,' and then another fraction for good measure, that's when T'volt changes his hold to each trapezius instead. "You could," he says with humor of his own. "Only thing is: I'm going to need that shirt later, so that would mean I'd have to take it out of range, see. Rescue it from wrinklage. Maybe even run with it, flapping in the breeze. What fun would that be?" And while he's at it, "Are you ready to give it another go?"

"What fun indeed." K'zin answers dryly, the not-quite suppressed smile expressing that he thinks it would be fun indeed. And for just a moment, the tension in the young man's frame is enough to hint such a move might become imminently necessary. But a breath later, K'zin is sliding his palms up T'volt's back to reassume the position and give it another go. It's only after the attempt that he asks, "Should I hurry up and get out of your hair? Big date?" The 'Reaches man gives the shirt a sidelong glance as he moves to let his arms fall. It's not like he called ahead.

That does it, audibly, not just the pop but T'volt's short, satisfied exhalation. "Damn, that's better." He flexes, twisting; still no complaints. For the question, "Probably, but don't," gets underscored by how he doesn't release the other man, though one hand tests the line of his own jaw: does he need to shave? Tough call. More important is what a squeeze of the still-present hand suggests, even as he's looking steadily at K'zin, "Sit down." Just not on the shirt. Or the couch again; that's too far off.

At 'probably,' there's tension enough to suggest he's willing and prepared to act upon that answer, but the continued hold stays K'zin. His eyes follow T'volt's movements, and when bidden, he sits on the edge of the bed. Where does K'zin have to go? Of course, if T'volt takes much time with shaving or whatever else, he'll find K'zin's feet still on the ground but the rest of him sprawled backward on the bed.

His feet grounded like that, that's good; that's not how it had been when he'd just been lying there, drugged out of his mind. When T'volt's done, when he's rinsed blade and brush and set them both aside to dry-- and then, after consideration, switched belts-- he walks back over to spirit the shirt to safety and then to unceremoniously push K'zin's knees apart, moving between them to lean over the other man. Low enough that he braces one hand on the mattress, "How much longer are they saying you'll be here?"

K'zin tilts his head to track the departure of the shirt. Alas, no running in the process. Then his gaze is back to the familiar ceiling by the time T'volt leans. The lean has K'zin shifting up onto his elbows. "The straightest answer I've gotten is 'a long time.' I don't think they're ready to give a definite time frame because so much depends on how Ras heals. They don't want to test him too much too soon and they tell me there's a lot of rehabilitation to do and that takes a lot of time. I've been to see the Weyrleader about pulling my weight and he's sending me to the weyrlingmaster to see if he needs another set of hands for the ground bound stuff, and if not I'll be heading to the Headwoman and Smiths." Something to do. That they're thinking these types of jobs... They really do mean a long time. "Will it... Should I keep my distance while I'm here?" He asks after a moment, quietly but seriously.

When T'volt listens that much more closely, then, it's not just in a figurative sense. The healers' eternal uncertainty never sits well with him, but if his grimace is slightly obscured by his and K'zin's proximity, the later twitch of his brows is that much more visible-- followed by, "I've got to warn you, our weyrlingmaster's no babe like yours," which must be a reflex given how relevant it isn't, not to mention the growing distraction in his expression as though he were weighing prospective jobs like runners in a race. It's distraction that he snaps out of. His focus is on K'zin, then, and he doesn't reply right away; he does move to prop himself up on two hands instead of just one, framing the other bronzerider between them. His expression's less illuminating. "What you should do," he says, "is have lunch with me and the wing tomorrow." Not just jobs, then.

Chances are good that whatever K'zin observes of those gestures end up feeding meanings they were never meant to bolster in the man's mind. Still, despite his own mental racing, he manages to ask, "No?" with appropriate gravitas. "You mean being a babe isn't a universal job requirement for weyrlingmasters? I mean, Meara was too old to tell if she'd ever been hot. I always figured she must have been once and got grandfathered in." He's rambling, but not without purpose. It buys him time to think. Time enough to be able to say, "As long as lunch is more than sturdy broth," which he's had far too much of, "Sure."

After months without K'zin's rambling on, it seems that T'volt's inclined to indulge him in this if nothing else; he might even have missed it. It could be. Certainly he waits until after the reclining man's done to say, "No, job requirement for weyrlingmasters' assistants." That the weyrlingmaster be hot. And then to say, "Good. Meet me there." And then to press the heel of one hand into K'zin's chest: lie down.

"Ahhh," K'zin exhales in answer to T'volt's correction, then there's the curl of a smile on his lips. His breath catches a little in his throat for the confirmed lunch date, but a nod. He doesn't ask if the wing will mind or-- anything else. This once he's smart enough to know those questions lead him down paths he does not wish to travel. He draws breath slowly, but the rise of his chest is the only resistance to the man's not-quite-suggestion. K'zin's smile is tentative, but there, so maybe he's feeling less insecure about their relationship status.

That settled-- never mind that even when they've eaten in the living caverns it hasn't been at that table, nor that the Telgari hasn't mentioned a time beyond lunch, possibly unintentionally but also quite possibly part of a not-very-hard puzzle-- T'volt looks consideringly down at K'zin. That smile gets returned, albeit with more wryness, and he just looks at him for a little while longer before rubbing his palm there: enough to cause warmth through friction before he stops. "So if you want to get on the ball about dispelling any could-get-back-to-your-Weyr rumors," or at least attempt to do so considering the quasi-chaste sharing of beds, "that would be the place to start. Just keeping on going like we've been going, yeah, it may be fun but it's not going to convince anyone you've never seen a dick in your life." K'zin's own not excluded!

K'zin's brow furrows, the smile fading as he looks up at T'volt, his expression turning confused. "I-" He starts,then just, "What?"

'What,' he says. T'volt, all ready for planning, for spinning the story, backtracks with a puff of frustration-- and yes, after he switches which hand he's leaning on, his reach to check the temperature of K'zin's forehead winds up hanging out there for a moment, right before he turns it into roughly tousling the younger man's hair. Because yes, that expression. "Remember when you wanted the 'Reaches to be clueless about your liking the hairier sort?" That's the expurgated version, even if his tone very much isn't." If it could also apply to an ovine, so be it.

"What?" Didn't he already say that? This might be the moment to think, 'It's a good thing he's so cute,' but the confusion seems genuine. And then he's pressing up against T'volt's hand to try to get back up on his elbows because apparently this protest can't be made lying down. "I never said that. I just said I thought you kept things secret and I wondered out loud how much had gotten back to 'Reaches because I only mentioned to a couple of people." Which isn't, the protest implies, the same thing as wanting to keep it secret.

T'volt gets that, how protests have to be made, and it's simpler besides; he straightens enough to half-sit, half-lean against K'zin's knee and then stretches out his arms a couple times, listening. Which winds up with him rubbing his forehead with a knuckle; fine, fine, he got it wrong. "So you're all right with that? Their hearing you like cock." It's got a note of question, a touch of doubt, and something more complex underlying it all; it, also, is not quite the same as not wanting to keep it secret. "For real, I mean, not stiff-upper-lip," his mouth winds up twitching at the phrasing, "Wher's loose out of the den anyway and rampaging around the countryside?"

"I-" K'zin starts immediately, but something in the way T'volt is considering him, or maybe something about the wording of that last phrase makes him stop to really think about it. H halls back on the bed in a blustery exhale, "I wasn't ever really keeping it a secret-secret," Which is somehow different than a secret. "I just didn't-- I'm not really one-- Shells, but this is hard to explain." One of his hands finds his hair and pushes through the longish locks. "Look, the guys that do guys at 'Reaches are scary." He doesn't mean scary-frightening, but more scary-crazy; it's the eye bulge that accompanies the word that really makes that much clear. "So it's just been easier to pass myself off as straight so I don't have to figure out how to turn them down."

Despite everything, T'volt winds up grinning down at Flopping K'zin and his secret-secrets; it tides him over through some of the explanation before he has to focus... despite the eye bulge making it not so easy. "...Scarytimes. That's right, you did say something about that, way back." K'zin gets an increasingly thoughtful look. "Just not the last part. So you're saying, what, don't put work into keeping it a secret," of whatever variation, "but don't shout it from the fireheights? Because I can run with that."

"Yeah, pretty much. I mean if you want to kiss me in public," K'zin starts, a single brow daring T'volt now. That T'volt doesn't want PDA with him is something he's certain of and he lets the tease hang without finish. "Kissing is a lot more productive in private, I find." His grin is goofy, familiar, possibly endearing after so many awful months without. "But we could test that, if you have time..." A glance toward the fancy shirt's spot of safety.

"I'll keep that in mind," says T'volt with a smirk, albeit one that commits to nothing at all; by now, there's little sign of that underlying unrest, for in the next breath he's grinning back, again. Also, reaching for K'zin until-- "Fuck." Not the fun kind, though it's not as though he replicates K'zin's as-though-singed reaction of earlier, settling for giving the other man's thigh a shake before straightening and then starting to stand. "Better get a move on. But. Tomorrow, and there will be not-broth."

Not-fellis-juiced K'zin is fast. His hands would probably wrinkle that nice shirt if T'volt has put it on. As is, his hands have to settle for a grip on the Telgari's sides, aiming to plant a brief kiss on his lips before letting go. K'zin always did like kissing for kissing's sake.

He may let go, but T'volt twists to more thoroughly face him even as he pushes forward, the better to bear K'zin down with his weight for seconds. Also, thirds.

Yes, please! And thank you! K'zin manages to make the wide grin that blooms when he realizes why T'volt is pinning him vanish in favor of returning want for want, because, you know, it's hard to kiss with that many teeth showing.

At this rate, T'volt may have to change his trousers too. It's after not very long at all-- what with the kissing on top of K'zin and not exactly keeping his hands to himself anymore-- that the man growls, "You want it quick?" Some might object to that, right before going off on a date with someone else. Not to mention quick.

If K'zin's brain were working after the second kiss, he might have to spend time trying to figure out just what it says about him that his answer, as his hands are going for his belt, is, "I'll take what I can get." It's probably intended to have a meaning closer to, "It's been too long," but just because he breathes this doesn't particularly link the two statements as he works to wiggle free of his pants. And if T'volt doesn't end up making his date, he'll not get any pity or remorse from K'zin.