Logs:A Weyrharper's Night
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| RL Date: 23 June, 2015 |
| Who: Nala, M'vyn |
| Involves: Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Nala and M'vyn continue to repair things |
| Where: Living Caverns / Store Rooms |
| When: Day 27, Month 1, Turn 38 (Interval 10) |
| OOC Notes: (Adult Content) |
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| For the past three nights, M'vyn has been setting up after the general dinner rush to sing. He hasn't done more than grab a stool, his gitar, and set himself where he would be the most visible and within hearing range of the majority of the tables. The crowds seem to be lingering longer, the chatter moving to a politer murmur as the greenrider sings. It's well after dinner and into fuller dark that M'vyn stops his set tonight. A large group of Malachite has remained, making requests and enjoying the music as they fall to an evening of cards and drinks. M'vyn is met with groans and pleas to remain, which he brushes off with a headshake and a small smile. "Another time," he murmurs to a brownrider as he passes and slaps the other man on the shoulder. He heads towards the tables to collect himself something to eat and drink, meaning to take a quick meal and rest before he heads home. It's Tippetarius who finds M'vyn's back, her aim with that stunted wing of hers not so good, and claws her way up to his shoulder with a scolding sort of chittering delivered, as if it's all /his/ fault that she couldn't manage to reach the perch she wanted the first time. Her reprimands don't last for long, voice abandoned in favour of images, glimpses of the kitchen and one of the winding, darker paths that leads from kitchen to stores given, and something of a burning heat that can't be the firelizard's own. Still, she shares, as she must be bid, and then bares her teeth, ready to bite, should she need to. "Shards!" M'vyn's shout is sharp and high-pitched as Tippetarius lands on his shoulder. He twitches his shoulder and moves to swipe the creature from him but her teeth get too close to his fingers. He's prepared to shove her off when those images roll in. His hand is dropped and a glare given to the reprimands of the gold. "/Fine/," he mutters darkly, hot tea with a splash of whiskey and honey in hand, he heads towards the location given. He's sipping the remains of the liquid as he enters and calls, "Nala?" The gold continues to cling to M'vyn's shoulder until she deems that he's doing as he's told and it's safe enough for her to depart, which is via the same route to arrived: the greenrider's back. She scrambles her way down and is away only moments before the woman she looks to steps out of the shadows of the corridor and looks M'vyn up and down with a sharp interest that might yet play second to the white, ruffled dress and the pastel ribbons and the long loops of the necklace that looks to be strings of small, quartz beads. "I think, one day," Nala considers aloud, "that I might be able to watch you in there and not want to claim you, but today is not that day." M'vyn straightens his shirt after the gold's clawing and at Nala's appearance, his eyes track from her legs up to her face with an appreciative gleam to his gaze. "If I had you noticed you dressed like this in the crowd, I may not have been as inclined to give them another three songs," M'vyn's voice is husky and low as he closes the distance between them. His fingers lift to play along those beads, rolling them briefly between thumb and forefinger. "Does it please you to see me sing once more?" he asks. The smile that he offers her doesn't quite reach his eyes as his hands drop to rest on her hips and tug her closer. "I was not dressed like this half an hour ago," Nala confesses with a shyer, self-deprecating twist of her lips, hips tilting a little as she fidgets on the spot for a half-moment. She plants her hands down flat just at the base of his ribs, barely flexing into the fabric of his shirt, investigative, but not demanding. "I hope that you are not doing it to please me," she murmurs, giving in to the drag of his hands at her hips. "...But yes. I've missed your voice." The bluerider's lips curve in a faint smile. "Even if I have not lacked for other iterations of it," she adds a touch more slyly. "Does it please you? This is--" She struggles for the right words. "You get to have both worlds." M'vyn's fingers move to the hem of that dress and playfully begins to draw it upwards as he takes in her shyness with a satisfied smirk. "I like that you got dressed like this," he tells her, inching ever higher, "did you do it to please /me/?" he questions for a question before he brushes his lips briefly against her neck. It's clear he'd rather /not/ talk at the moment. "Mmm. I suppose," he murmurs against her skin before he pulls back. A casual glance is tossed in the direction of the door before he looks down at her once more. "It pleases me. Music helped heal me. I'd rather do music than ride with an insufferable amount of drills, sweeps, and all that was ahead of me for turns and turns." He tugs at her hemline, "Did you ask me here to taunt me with this dress and your questions?" he asks, voice edging on a demand, "or are we going to have another sort of dalliance?" Nala is both brave and vulnerable enough to admit, "...Yes," just as her breath catches when her skirts are inched higher. "But I did it more in the hopes that you would /act/ on it," she quietly tells him, a half step or so back bringing her up against the wall, where she tips her chin up to allow him better access to her neck. Her hands settle at M'vyn's hips, her grip enough to keep him near without being restrictive. "I'm proud of you," the bluerider says softly, tilting her head enough to touch her lips to the line of his jaw. "I want you to be happy." Even if that much has always seemed to be beyond her. "But, right now, I want to be all that you can think of." And that's when the hands at his hips haul and demand, as she wraps a leg around his waist M'vyn doesn't bother to acknowledge her words further, either because he doesn't find a way to accept her words, or chooses not to. That wall gives too much support and her leg wrapped around his waist takes all further thoughts from his mind. His pants and her skirt are arranged in a manner to allow their meeting to fall to that promised dalliance. He claims Nala rough and quick, not bothered by the possibility of someone walking in on them. This feels all too familiar and the surrealness of having sung, her dress, and their meeting in private only adds to the fervor of the moment. Afterwards, he rests his head against the curve of her neck and pants to catch his breath. He pulls back, brushing fingers across her jaw and then he settles them there to lean in and claim one final, demanding, kiss before he releases her. He pulls himself together without looking at her, needing space to resettle himself after that rush of adrenaline and pleasure. It can hardly have not been a calculated thing, more than an effort to please, that Nala has dressed as she has, has chosen to lurk in a shadowy corridor and has managed to get what she wants. It cannot have been an idle musing. She has no complaints about the way in which he claims her, sounds smothered against his neck in a manner that must be familiar, fingers digging into his shoulders when they don't stray to twist into his hair. Her leg tightens at his waist until the tension in her suddenly dissipates and nails dig, her surrender to M'vyn's demanding kiss absolute, if only because her wits have abandoned her. When she world shifts back into view, she isn't slow to notice how he looks away, and she reaches, gently, for his chin. "Look at me." M'vyn turns his head at her gentle reach and lifts a brow at her, "If I look too much, I'll find an excuse to have you all over again." He reaches up for her fingers to capture in his own to press his lips against before he lowers them back to her side. "And if we're going to do that I'd rather take my time and bring you home." His fingers traipse briefly through her hair before he pulls back and with a concerted effort turns to find something to perch on. A box is claimed and he settles, hands clasping together between his legs as he rests his elbows upon his thighs. "This was..," he looks up at her, gaze partially obscured by some of his curls that have escaped, "very needed. But we don't have to.. we don't have to play these games anymore unless it's what you want." Nala watches him watch her more than she solely observes him for the sake of it, and only once he's moved away does she make to subtly rearrange the skirts of her dress and push away from the wall to trail only a little way after him. "...Then take me home," she says gently, far enough away to still have to reach to run a careful hand through his hair. She fetches up against the wall again, a few feet away from the box M'vyn has chosen, and leans there just out of the line of sight. "Are you happy?" she asks, pressing this time, though she attempts to keep her voice away from anything like heavy or sharp. "...I am... still struggling with who I am," she murmurs. "What I want. What I like. What I don't like. What I was /told/ to be or want or have. What I ought to. You might have been the first kind of choice I ever made. Sometimes... it's nice to remember." "Happy?" M'vyn questions, lifting his gaze from his folded hands to her face. "Happiness is relative to a state of mind, I suppose." He lifts a shoulder in a shrug and draws a hand forward to wriggle back and forth. "A balancing act. I'll never be able to allow myself to truly /feel/ that bubbling happiness people brag about, or those who can laugh easily display. But I'm..," he pauses, searching for the word as he re-clasps his hands. "I'm stable." A clinical observation. Her remarks regarding her own feelings draws a brief glance of the tenderness he feels for her across his features as his eyes and mouth soften as he listens. "You were the first one I ever wanted and you made me consider that there was more to life than the outside forces that control you." He rises then, moving over to tug at her hemline and draw his other arm around her backside. He pulls her close against him, gentler than his earlier need, and moves to place his mouth over hers. "You have the knot you wished," Nala considers, her reply made just as he rises. "Perhaps, in time, you might find the balancing... easier." Hers is a not so clinical observation, yet there's no darker taint, nor more lightly patronising slant to her carefully chosen words. There's no resistance to his tug, nor does she deny his reaching arm, though, in this moment, she doesn't let herself slip her arms around him, even as she lets him have his kiss without so much as a flicker of hesitation. She draws back sooner than he might like, to look up at him and conduct obvious study. "...I could be a different person every time we see each other," she murmurs, insisting upon getting the words out, head tilted to keep her lips a fraction away from his. "Can you live with that?" M'yvn withdraws when he senses the shift in her physical response. His eyes are dark pools that give little away in the moment that he catches her gaze. His breath mingles with hers as he considers an answer. He presses another kiss against her lips, a peck of movement as her closeness seems to draw it out of him. He pulls back then, turning to the side to better position his arm about her waist. "You'll always be mine. Whatever version of you that comes, I will take." He doesn't seem inclined to press on with any other words as he seeks to lead her out of the stores. "Let's go home," he drops his voice as he whispers in her ear. "If that's what you want to do." He presses a kiss against her cheek and hesitates long enough at the door she has the choice of where to go. Nala gives a tug, suddenly insistent, and begins to head in the opposite direction from that which M'vyn arrived from, unwilling to head back through the kitchen and living cavern and potentially have to surrender him to anyone else. It's a silent demand, and maybe the only one she'll make for a while, but she is unwilling to compromise about it, if only in the strength of her grip; a strength that more than proves that she chooses to surrender to his wants, rather than /has/ to. Perhaps she doesn't want too many people seeing her in her dress, either. Whatever her reasons, now she's got his attention away from the rest of the Weyr, she won't relinquish it, and she won't leave his (their?) bed until morning. |
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