Logs:Heartless Heartbreaker
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| RL Date: 9 July, 2016 |
| Who: Olivya, Quint |
| Involves: Fort Weyr, High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: After leaving the Snowasis, Quint runs into Olivya. A proposition is made and accepted. |
| Where: Inner Caverns / Quint's Room, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 25, Month 3, Turn 41 (Interval 10) |
| OOC Notes: Probably NSFW, goldflight aftermath. |
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| Aidavanth is newly won -- and the celebrations have already begun, only some because it was a High Reachian brown -- and many more because it was a gold flight, and most people don't need much of an excuse. Quint's stepping down the stairs from the Snowasis and hurrying through the tunnel to the inner caverns, looking -- much more frazzled than he ordinarily does. There's a sheen of sweat on his forehead, and his tunic looks like it's been tugged at. One of the kitchen's workers steps out into his path all of a sudden, and he rocks to a halt, exhaling sharply, blinking at her as if non plussed. There is a certain thrill to a gold flight that even dragonriders aren't numb to; the stroke of tingling electricity along the nerves and the roil of emotions in the pit of the stomach. Olivya, however, manages to wear the after-effects of a flight well, her iced eyes brighter and her bright lips softer but little else changed in the way the Weyrlingmaster carries herself. Her gaze slides appreciatively after the kitchen worker, but it's Quint that it catches on. "Haven't gotten used to it yet?" she questions with warm sympathy. "I came to see if my assistant had any luck." The kitchen worker leans close to Quint, and murmurs something. The harper exhales, studying her for a moment, but something draws his gaze towards Olivya as the Fortian approaches. With a murmur, he shakes his head at the woman near him, brushing hands down his tunic to try and smooth it. The gaze that the harper turns on the Weyrlingmaster is blank for a moment at her words, before the dots are connected. "Your assistant? Ah, Fortian?" Quint shakes his head, lips quirking briefly, "I'm afraid it's an in-Weyr win." He goes silent, reaching out to brush Olivya's arm with his fingers. Liv's smile for the worker turns less soft and more sharp, a dangerous edge to play with in the corners of red lips. Perhaps she isn't so unaffected by the gold in the skies above. It seems, at least, she'll let the Harper's refusal stand on its own, at least, even as her fingers reach to catch those fingers as they brush her. With them, she'll move to tug him away, her voice dropping to a murmur as she asks, "Do you need a rescue? Too many people in love with the charming Journeyman to make it back to your room alone?" "That's my second proposition of the night," Quint admits, with a low laugh, letting Liv draw him to one side. "Three... if you count yours." Which it seems he is, stepping in close to her to murmur into her ear: "Walk me back to my room?" "I haven't propositioned you yet, darling. Believe me, when I do, you'll know it," suggests Olivya softly, her lips softening again as she shifts subtly to allow him access to her ear. She lingers close for a moment, two, before she draws away to agree, "Of course. I am a dragonrider; we do have a responsibility to the halls and holds of Pern." But she isn't as intimately familiar with this Weyr, and thus she'll let Quint actually lead the way to his room. "And yet apparently, you don't know when I'm doing it," the harper replies, amusement tugging the corner of his lips upwards. Only once she agrees does Quint slide an arm around the greenrider's waist, leading her on. It does require them to navigate out into the bowl again -- into the freezing, heavy rain -- counterpointing the heat of the crafter's area and Quint's own room, an odd-shaped room that is nevertheless warmly lit. For a moment, when they are in the Bowl, Olivya's gaze flicks upwards to mark the pair in the sky, but she is relieves nonetheless to escape from the Reachian winter. It's at his door that she stops him, pressing him suddenly against the frame with the flat of one hand against his chest. "I didn't think you did that kind of thing," she answers truthfully, showing her hand baldly for once. "Are you? Propositioning me?" Quint brow furrows, like he's not sure if he's been clear enough. Instead of answering with words, as is his want, he strains forward against her hand, and seeks to meet her lips with his own, his arm around her waist seeking to pull her closer. Actions, surely, speak louder than words. Well, that answers that. Olivya accepts the response with an immediate answer of her own as those fingers that were restraining him a moment before curl into the fabric of his shirt to pull herself closer under the pressure of his arm. Her red lips meet Quint's with an urgency spurred on by the queen in the air, driving her to seek more. That his need is met with her own is accepted, and Quint tugs them both into the room, shoving the door closed with a foot. That doesn't mean the door is done with, though; he presses the greenrider back against it, groaning briefly as he struggles to pull at her clothes without ripping them, the only sign of restraint in an otherwise unusually demanding nature. A small laugh is ripped from Olivya's throat, perhaps at that restraint, as she reaches for the fastenings of her bright, red jacket to help him. The rest of her clothes are easier, especially with her help. Only once she is shamelessly, starkly naked does she reach for his clothes. Not taking any of the same care, she tears first at the buttons of his shirt, lips grazing along his jaw in what might be apology. Her laugh earns another noise from Quint, fumbling with those buttons and perhaps losing one or two of hers in the process too, all unnoticed. When she's fully unclothed, he exhales, drinking her in, and then she's reaching for his clothes, and he's helping -- for once not caring that his perfect, crisp shirt is ruined. The bed might be the logical place to go next, but there's need, and they're both here, their respective heights making it awkward -- at least until he lifts her up, and with an exhale of relief, seeks to satisfy both their needs. Liv's long legs wrap around his hips as he lifts her, only an encouraging murmur escaping as they don't make it past the door. As he drives her further and further to the peak of her need, her nails end up marking his arms and back, teeth biting briefly against his shoulder as she shudders as the relief sweeps in waves over her. After, when she has to ease her legs to stand, shaking, and probably move to get her jacket or something-- She instead studies Quint, her fingers lifted to her own lips to brush at the color there to clean it. There's something different in Quint's gaze, after. Something more relaxed, at ease -- the man rather than the harper, breathing heavily yet steadying her as she seeks her feet, smile lighting his gaze. He stays that abortive movement by brushing fingers through her hair, tucking some of it behind her ear. Leaning close, he murmurs a single word into her ear: "Stay." There is an arch into the gesture, the Weyrlingmaster drawing closer and her eyes fluttering shut briefly with a smile before she tips her head in an agreeing nod. "If only to see the broken hearts when I leave in the morning," she teases back softly, breathlessly, though. Her clothes are left discarded where they are, as she draws away to move towards the bed, only her fingers catching against Quint's lightly to lead him. "Heartless heartbreaker," Quint accuses her, laughingly. He's more than willing to let himself be led, taking in the view as he follows. The bed isn't nearly as big as hers, but it's comfortable enough for the what sleep they'll get, covered in furs. |
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