Logs:Distraction Distraction
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| RL Date: 9 July, 2016 |
| Who: D'vro, Lys |
| Involves: Fort Weyr, High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Lys finds distractions in the form of D'vro when Aidavanth rises in her maiden flight. |
| Where: Glitter and Glass Weyr, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 25, Month 3, Turn 41 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Irianke/Mentions, Jocelyn/Mentions, V'ret/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: Glossy sex. Slightly backdated. |
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| The dragons wanted to socialize, to take a nice flight, somewhere outside of the storm that drives heavy rain down on the weyr itself, while each of their riders went about their own business. It was supposed to be just any other day. Even outside the Weyr, it's obvious when Aidavanth is readying herself to rise. Within the Weyr, it's even more obvious. Lys is down one of the tunnels off the inner caverns, pressed against the cool stone just after one of the sharper twists in the rock. She drips, wet from having recently been out in the deluge. Her frame shivers but she's perhaps unaware of it with the way her hands press hard to the rock and her eyes stay squeezed shut. Being left to his own devices in a foreign Weyr might seem like the sort of thing a man like D'vro wouldn't particularly care for, but the bronzerider makes the most of the opportunity while his dragon is otherwise occupied. The usually focused man, however, wasn't so careful as to entirely avoid the rising of a queen, even if he manages to keep Colsoth's attention focused on Evyth when he'd probably have very much liked to come and chase. And, so it is, D'vro is wandering the caverns - perhaps purposefully, perhaps not - when he comes across the young woman. "Lys?" is half-concerned, half-surprised. Not that he should be very surprised to find a greenrider in the Weyr that she lives. Lys' blue-green eyes draw open slowly, a drip of water escaping her hair and traveling down along a temple toward her chin. They're unfocused at first, then lock on the bronzerider. Her eyes remain intensely on his a moment before she swallows and speaks, "It's hot," holds just a little emphasis. Nevermind that she seems to be shivering from the cold. Then, with no warning, she reaches to snag up his hand as she pushes off the wall and pulls, "Come with me," and unless he pulls, she's off down the tunnel and to another and another, winding them deeper into the Weyr with swift steps. D'vro doesn't offer any sort of counter to her claim. He almost certainly assumes she means because of the gold, and he probably couldn't argue with her on that point even if he wanted to. And, given that, he doesn't protest her taking him by the hand to lead the way to somewhere else. Except to ask, "Where are we going?" "Somewhere away," isn't probably as specific as D'vro was hoping for in response. It's all Lys is prepared to give him, short of stopping, until they are somewhere fairly "away." Then her intent becomes all too clear as she pivots suddenly and reaches for his shirt, meaning to draw him to her and find his lips with her own. Away must work as well as anything for him just now. He's not inclined to demand something more specific, and simply lets her lead him where she will. Neither does he seem inclined to stop her from drawing him to her when she stops, letting their lips meet, moving an arm around her to pull her close, before he hesitates and starts to draw his head back. The hesitation makes her fists thump lightly on his chest, but only because she gives his shirt a shake, her lips insistent for another moment before he's drawing back, leaving her breathless and looking up at him with vexation. "Do you want to go to my weyr instead?" Lys offers in a rough voice, the offer as thoughtless as the rest of this might be. "No," offers D'vro in a similar sort of voice, low and heated but perhaps frustrated with the fact that desire exists in him at all. His no isn't because he wants to stop, though, just that he doesn't want to take the time to move to somewhere more private. "Do you?" he asks with that arm tightening slightly and his head angled toward her. "No," sounds a little confused, but probably not because she's unclear about what she wants. Lys seems all too ready, though, in light of the feelings that gold flights engender, to let go any misinterpretation she might've made of his movements. The blonde leans up on tiptoe to try to draw him back into a quickly deepened kiss, her hands slipping from his shirt down to his belt. "Fuck, it's hot," she swears just as her hands reach his belt and as swiftly go away, glancing to the nearest open doorway. It's not exactly more private, but it's out of the tunnel and into a storage cavern, at any rate, so that's where she aims to pull him to so she can shrug out of her jacket and make short work of her other wet clothes as if that might help with the heat, even as her body shivers. D'vro is a little more distracted by that kiss, a little more eager to have her hands on his belt, but there's only a vague sound of protest when she leads them through a doorway. "You don't feel hot," he murmurs. He's touching her, so he should know. "You're shivering." D'vro looks very much like he wants to take off more of her clothes despite the shivering, but he still manages to ask, "Is there someone else that should be here?" "He might be chasing," Lys doesn't sound like she's got any intention of finding out for sure now that D'vro is here. "And it doesn't matter. I want you." Here, now, and some might argue with clouded judgment, but it's not like she turned him out of the bed after Evyth's last flight was finished. "I never feel right during gold flights. Not since the first time. Just-- let's--" She seems frustrated, not able to find the right words, so she just looks up at him with her pretty blue-green eyes and says, "Please?" softly. There are a few moments of inaction on D'vro's part. Whether he's trying to convince himself that he shouldn't take advantage of this moment, or convincing himself that he should, is anyone's guess. In the end, though, his hands are moving to get rid of the clothes between them and their path to release so he can lift her up against something sturdy, whether that's a crate or the wall, and do his best to oblige the lust. Since that's the way whatever internal argument turned out, Lys is more than willing to be helpful to the cause, relieved and pleased to give into the moment. Her arms wrap around his neck once they've found a suitable hard surface and even if there is someone she's supposed to be looking for, she's very much here, with him, now finding the release they both need. Once they've found it, she's breathless, pressed tightly against him, her arms curled around his neck, lips brushing kisses after a moment along his neck. "Thank you," is soft. "Now it's cold." As it should be, and there's amusement in her tone, even if her teeth chatter a little as she says it. The bronzerider is panting when it's over, mind quieted in the afterglow, forcing him to simply enjoy the moment for what it is. "Thank you," he murmurs back, but then his brain is back in control and D'vro starts to shift away from her. There's a moment taken to pull his pants back to rights around his hips, but then he's reaching for his own jacket so he can wrap it around her shoulders. "We should get you near a fire. Put some klah in you. Or tea? Which do you prefer?" "I could bleed klah," the greenrider tells him ruefully, her hands now tucked around her chest after reluctantly letting go of him. Lys glances down to her wet clothes and grimaces, flashing him a grateful smile when his jacket wraps around her shoulders. She looks back to her clothes a moment and then back to the bronzerider. After a moment of thoughtful contemplation, she invites, "If you're not pressed for time, would you come up to my weyr for a while? I could use company. Distraction. There's a fire and klah and booze and there's dry clothes for me." All good things in Lys' book. Some part of D'vro probably wishes he was pressed for time in some way, but not so much that he's going to lie about it. "Sure. For awhile. I can make sure you don't freeze to death, anyway." It's some sort of teasing, offered as the bronzerider gathers up Lys' wet clothes so she doesn't have to. "I would appreciate it," Lys tells him, reaching to take those wet clothes because-- like it or not-- she has to put them back on and go back out in the rain to catch an elevator dragon to get up to her weyr with him, "but if you'd rather not...?" She offers him the out, earnestly. It's not like he owes her anything for this brief entanglement, at least not so far as she's concerned. It's a process, to get back into wet things, one that involves convincing herself of the necessity and quite a lot of awkward wiggling to make wet leathers fit like dry leathers, but she manages after some moments to be ready to go, if they're going together. "No, it's fine. I don't mind." It's not like they haven't already done what he might otherwise avoid, after all. "I'd much rather be with you than wandering around aimlessly until Colsoth and I can go home." D'vro tries not to watch her dress herself, though he absently offers his assistance to help her get back into the wet leather at least once. Lys accepts his help, when it's useful, but otherwise manages on her own. She leads the way silently, after a nod to accept his words at face value. It's a stout blue that meets them in the bowl, but one whose rider has a friendly enough smile for the pair, if a little too amused and with too much assumption in her look. Lys doesn't bother to correct her wingmate or offer much in the way of introduction, only thanks when they do land on the little ledge with the view that would probably be exquisite in conditions other than sheets of rain in downpour. D'vro was given his jacket back for the trip outside, of course, but they're probably both fairly well watered now and once they're past the thick curtain that helps retain heat in winter, Lys is turning to the bronzerider offering her assistance to get him out of his wet leathers. "We can hang them to dry by the hearth while you're here," she explains, although her hands wander a bit more than is really necessary before she strips out of her things - down to nothing but flesh and gathers her clothes into her arms to traipse, shivering, into the the cozy inner weyr, whose first impression includes all that glittering in only the light coming from the low fire in the hearth and is therefore quite the pretty sight. The fire receives Lys' first attention, dumping the wet garments onto the floor nearby until she has time to quickly, carefully build up the fire and then draw out a collapsable wooden rack with a number of dowels at differing levels to hang wet clothes, and she tends next to that. The Fortian Wingleader will let her take his wet clothes, the flight still easing his aloofness despite their already taking advantage of the lust. "Your partner isn't going to show up and get the wrong idea, are they? I'd prefer to avoid confrontation if possible." Though maybe if D'vro truly felt that way, he would have said something before letting her take his wet clothes to hang for drying. "You're safe," Lys replies. "My partners are probably busy and even if they weren't..." She breaks of shrugging and shaking her head. She finishes settling the clothes and then puts the kettle on for the promised klah and breaks out a bottle of whiskey. "Are you prepared to be very interesting or should I take you to bed?" The greenrider asks-slash-threatens-slash-teases. "I'd like to be very distracted for the next-- well, at least as long as that gold is flying." Evidently she's game for good conversation or sex, or probably both, but the distraction seems to be the point. D'vro has a terse laugh for her assurance of safety, but there's a brief, curious, "Partners?" too. "I can do my best. That's really all a person can offer, I think. But I do like to be good at what I'm expected to do. I'm not sure how often I've been accused of being interesting, though." Lys considers, and then tosses her head in a gesture to indicate the bed. It's not spacious as these things go, but comfortable enough for two people who like one another well enough to be in a bed to begin with. "The blankets will be warmer than the chairs while our clothes dry." Nevermind that she has dry clothes. It might just be whatever edge the flight might be providing or just her interest in being somewhat on common ground that keeps her in just her skin. She brings the booze to the bed and crawls in, glancing back to either make sure he's coming or to provoke that action, given the sultry look. Once she's climbing under the blankets and getting settled, she'll address, "Partners. I'm not sure monogamy is my thing, but I don't like a lot of partners I never get to know. I like a couple, maybe a few, I know well. Serious but never too serious. And I like good sex. I didn't think I would when I was younger, but it turns out I do." And D'vro's performance must meet muster since he's been invited here. "I expect," she clarifies dryly, "to keep myself distracted, either talking with you or not talking with you, until the gold flight is done. Then I'll give you back to Colsoth if he wants you." There's a touch of humor to the last, as if there might be some doubt. He looks between the fire and the bed once Lys is crawling her way into it, and it's the latter that holds his attention just now. D'vro starts to step that way. There's something to be said about warmth, and the flight is making the idea of being close to someone else still quite pleasant. "Partners," he corrects himself as he settles in under the covers, sitting up with his back against the headboard. "He might not want me for awhile given I haven't permitted him to chase." There's a touch of humor there, too, but it's still true. "Especially since I'm here feeling all of it." "And getting laid," Lys adds with a twist of dark humor as she moves to settle herself against him, a slow breath drawn and a shudder leaving her whole body less tense on the exhale. She offers D'vro the bottle of whiskey first. "Do you know what you want out of life?" might seem random, the question holding genuine curiosity. It might seem less random when she adds, "I don't know that I don't want monogamy, but I don't know that I do, either. It's complicated. It feels like everything is under the surface." "And getting laid," allows D'vro with a small grin. He takes the bottle, then a drink, and hands it back to Lys. "I feel like I already have what I wanted out of life. I have Colsoth, and my wing. Romantic relationships have never been very important to me. Perhaps if I didn't have Colsoth, they would feel more necessary." As Lys listens and reacts, there's a momentary pause after his last in which she gives him a rather queer look. She remembers the bottle in her hand after a moment and shifts a little more upright, but still mostly snuggled against him so she can tip it enough to get a gulp. "I think that's sort of why I don't really know what I want. Romantic relationships..." She pauses, struggling to find the right words, "the people are important to me, their happiness is important to me, but it always seems like the relationship is something so much more... essential to their lives than it is to mine. It's ... nice, for me. They're nice. They're wonderful really, and I love them but the relationships... That doesn't matter the way I think they wish it would to me." She's abruptly embarrassed, hurriedly tacking on, "I know that must be different from what you meant, just-" she needed to say it, perhaps? She doesn't seem to know how to finish so she just shrugs. "It's okay," says D'vro. That it's different from what he meant, presumably. "You seem to have a better idea of what you want than you give yourself credit for, though. I'm not sure many people know what they want in that regard until it happens, anyway. The only people I've ever loved were family, or near enough that it made no difference." He eyes the whiskey for a moment, but his gaze settles on her instead. "I don't do family," Lys says it dismissively, "maybe that's why... But then," she cuts herself off and reroutes, "I'm not sure the whys matter." The bottle is offered, but absently, her eyes meeting his. "I enjoy you," is abrupt candor, but she doesn't dwell. "Tell me about your family?" "You don't know me very well." It's self deprecating more than anything. D'vro knows perfectly well that he's not the most likable man on Pern when his libido is in it's more natural state. "But I enjoy you, too." As for his family, "There's not much to tell. The woman I hold most dear was a clutchmate of mine. Her family is my family more than my family is my family." "Maybe we'll test the truth of that when dragons aren't involved sometime," is wry but holds promise (or threat). Lys thinks on the rest a moment. "Before her, who was there? Who raised you?" "Perhaps." D'vro takes the bottle and a careful drink while he considers his answer. "I was raised by the Weyr, like most weyr children. My mother was distant. I don't know her very well. I'm not entirely sure who my father was. I find it amusing sometimes that we keep such detailed records on our dragons, but our own lineages are barely worth noting." "Perhaps that's because people's bloodlines are only supposed to matter to the Blooded and their sycophants," which leaves little doubt as to how Lys fees about Holders. "Maybe if our bloodlines mattered at all to dragons in the shell, we'd keep better track." Her tone shows some amusement, tinged with a bitter edge. "Was it a good childhood?" "It's said that the children of riders are more likely to be chosen by dragons themselves. Dragons don't care about our parents, or their parents, but our blood might call to them all the same." Is philosophy interesting? D'vro seems to think so. "I suppose so. I wanted for little." Except maybe familial affection. There's not so much of that in a weyrbrat's life. "What was your childhood like?" "So it's said. But is that said so the children of dragonriders feel worthwhile or so we can justify putting forth more of our own and bothering the holders less, or because it's true?" Lys is evidently game for this sort of conversation: it must be distracting! "This Weyr raised me when my fosterparents dumped me here when I was six. I was a handful," probably still could be termed so if for different reasons, "and stubborn about being so. There were good people and bad people." She lets her free hand make a little gesture to indicate 'and so it goes,' or something along those lines. "I wanted to be a harper," says D'vro as though it's some sort of commentary about feeling worthwhile as the child of a dragonrider. He takes another drink, then offers the whiskey back to Lys. "I can see you being stubborn." It's teasing, then more more serious, "But you seem to have turned out reasonably well. Though perhaps I should save my judgment until neither of us are under some dragon's influence." "But did you want your parents to have been harpers?" Lys inquires with a lifted brow before taking a sip from the bottle offered back to her. "Perhaps you should," she agrees with a trace of the dark humor from earlier. "I think I have done alright, to Evyth's credit more than most. To Irianke's, too." She thinks on that a moment and then takes another sip. "In a way, meeting under dragon influence can be a little like meeting someone when you're drunk. Might be a totally different beast when you're sober." "I didn't want my parents to be anything," admits D'vro thoughtfully. "I think I'm more likely to meet someone under a dragon's influence than drunk. I usually only get drunk after I'm under the influence, as it is." Like now? He's not drunk yet, but it could happen eventually. There's amusement in the way Lys peeks up at him now. "Maybe Colsoth's the only one who knows how to get you properly motivated," her suggestive tone holds humor but she asks with more serious curiosity, "Do you ever want outside of flights?" "That may very well be the case." D'vro even smiles for a moment over at Lys. "Sure, sometimes. Maybe not as often as other men. Or women." Equal opportunity here. "It's not often much of a consideration until someone is interested enough to insist on consideration. And that happens less often than the wanting." Lys pulls away from the bronzerider long enough to lean to put the bottle on the nightstand before shifting again to slide one knee to the opposite side of his thighs and come to straddle his lap while her hands find his shoulders. "Consider it," the blonde encourages with a sly smile and a slight movement of her hips, "I insist." |
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