Logs:It's a Trap
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| RL Date: 31 July, 2014 |
| Who: H'vier, Tayte |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Tayte lays a trap, H'vier walks right into it. |
| Where: Tayte's Room, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 26, Month 5, Turn 35 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Fayla/Mentions, K'del/Mentions, Tahvra/Mentions, Yvalia/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: Non-graphic sex. Language. Adult themes. Angst. Etc. Back-dated. It's totally a real drink, about as strong as a Long Island ice tea, the ingredients are listed [here http://www.drinksmixer.com/drink2406.html]. |
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| She'd left an obvious note along with the many hidden items that H'vier will have to discover in the coming days or months or possibly even turns that keep the scent of her lingering in his weyr. The note was about Tahvra, but she'd signed it "With love" anyway. When the knock came three days later, as asked, she was ready. He had to know she would be. She'd arranged for the girls to be elsewhere in case things got ugly, but given that she'd taken pains with her "pull-me" hair, her subtly glammed u?uep face and her outfit, a so-short-it-might-not-count-as-a-dress skin-tight black number that he especially liked, she hardly saw how it could get ugly. She held her breath a moment before unlocking and opening her door. When Tayte opens the door, H'vier is not prepared well enough to not let what he thinks about the way she looks be seen. His gaze shifts down unconsciously before snapping back up to her face. For himself, his usually well-groomed beard is not quite so well-groomed. But it's only been a couple of days. Otherwise, he's more or less his usual self. "You look nice," he allows, voice more neutral than his eyes had been a moment ago. Tayte has a dazzling smile for him. "Thank you," she enthuses, as if getting the compliment from him was the highlight of her day (really it might have been). "Come in," is equally bright as she steps carefully aside in her very tall "fuck me" heels. She's prepared to close the door behind him and offer, "I mixed drinks for the apprentices today and we had left-overs. You'll help me see they don't go to waste, won't you?" She does make awfully good drinks which really does make up for being able to burn water if put to the task of cooking. H'vier walks through the door and his gaze drops again. It's more subtle this time, which probably means it's also deliberate. But he doesn't stare as she closes the door and he continues into the oh-so-familiar room. "I'm not sure that's a very good idea, Tayte." Because getting drunk with your hot ex, the mother of your child, is never a good idea. "Do you have a date after this?" He has to ask. Why would she be dressing up like this for him? "But, Havi," Tayte protests as she plucks two glasses of some mixed drink on the booze dresser (of which there are several more), bringing the glasses over to him. "If you don't help me, I'll be forced to drink them all myself and get slutty drunk and who knows who will bring me home in this dress." Her smile is very innocent. "Besides, I made them for the apprentices. Individually, there's really not much alcohol in each. Hardly enough to impair your judgment," because he's big and strong and manly. She feigns disappointment for the strength of the drinks, letting it vanish into a convincing smile before offers one up. "No date. It's a well established fact that part of the grieving process for a heartbreak is to look insanely hot in front of your ex, just to remind them what's no longer theirs." She shrugs. "You wanted me to move on, right?" See? She's just doing what he wants, and it makes just so much sense when she puts it like that, doesn't it? Because it's easier than trying to argue with Tayte, which H'vier hadn't intended on doing with anything that didn't directly involve Tahvra, he takes one of the drinks from the vintner and moves to sit down in a spot that's sort of his usual. "Right," is his comment on her explanation of her clothes. He doesn't sound entirely convinced. "I do want you to move on, Tayte. And you can wear whatever you like." She settles in her place, next to him. At least she allows more space between them than always was. Tayte starts by sipping her drink, watching to see if he does the same. "Drink names have really gotten creative, don't you think? They call this one 'Tie Me to the Bedposts, Baby.'" She says it so casually, nevermind the well-timed flick of her gaze of him and batting of lashes if he's looking. Regardless, so far Tahvra's name hasn't been brought up. Oh, he takes a drink. He's trying to take a drink when she says its name, anyway, and it sort of makes him cough into his glass as he chokes on it. H'vier doesn't look at her. He takes a moment, then swallows the rest of it. "I came here to talk about our daughter, Tayte." Just in case she'd somehow forgotten. "I can come back if now isn't a good time." If Tayte is pleased it evokes a reaction, she doesn't let on. "We can be friends, can't we? I was just talking about my duties today." She lets herself pout a moment. "This co-parenting thing really is much easier if we're friends." She shifts as though to make herself more comfortable, but it brings one (but not the other, of her thighs closer to his. "How would you like things to work with Tavi, Havi?" Evidently, she'll let him start since he's so eager. H'vier's gaze shifts to her thigh as he sets his glass aside. He doesn't go so far as to move away from the touch, but his eyes lift again and he's clearly trying to ignore everything distracting about her. "Do you think we can be friends? Truly?" The way he asks suggests he doesn't think that's actually possible. "I want to be able to see her regularly. I don't want you to give her to some other man and tell her that they're her father." "Why not? I'm friends with K'del and he chose someone else over me, so why not you too?" Surely H'vier doesn't want to be compared to K'del in any way, but there it is. Maybe Tayte is still mad after all. The next words aren't about Tahvra. As she idly bumps his knee with hers, sipping on her illicitly named beverage, she says, "Remember that time we went to Ista?" And did nothing platonic people do, "We should go again sometime." She smiles and leans toward him but her next words are, "You are her father. But someday she might have an Uncle like you are to Yvalia. I still want another child someday, and maybe that child's father will be interested in being a real family." She says it thoughtfully. "I haven't chosen anyone else over you," counters H'vier. Even though he has, sort of. It's just himself that he's chosen over her instead of another woman. He ignores her suggestion of visiting Ista in favor of beginning to look annoyed. "It wasn't me that was disinterested in being a real family, Tayte. It was you who didn't want to be my weyrmate. That's not something you can hold against me." Other things, surely. But not that. "You've chosen everyone else over me, and that's worse," Tayte counters the counter, her words lacking heat and rather suggesting by tone something like, 'And isn't that sad?' With a sigh she reaches her free hand to delicately fall on his thigh before responding to the next, "I want-" present tense, "-to be your weyrmate, H'vier. I just didn't want to rush into anything," nevermind they've been together two turns. "We have children to think of, and I wanted to be sure that we wouldn't just be getting into an argument a seven after everything got moved in given our recent issues," who shall remain nameless but who definitely both have names, "that would have us moving out again so fast it would leave their heads spinning." She takes a drink before she's bold enough to say, "For all we know, Fayla will want you to raise her child with her and maybe you'll want to because then you can have a happy family and not have to deal with Yvalia or K'del." If he's not moved her hand away from his thigh already, she does it now. "Bullshit," says H'vier about who he's chosen. There isn't as strong an emphasis behind the word as there might be if he was angrier. He listens to the rest, but after her hand shifts away, the bronzerider rises again. It's not to leave, though. Not yet. He just goes to get another one of those drinks. And then he'll just stand there because it's apparently better than Tayte putting her legs and hands on him. "What do you want to do with Tahvra?" he asks, trying to pull them back on topic. "So you're going to be celibate then?" Tayte asks in a tone that suggests that even if he did answer yes, she wouldn't believe him. Even if he didn't mean to choose everyone else, it's de facto by not choosing her. The thing about really good mixed drinks is that, especially with the fruity ones like the first one she presented him with, they're likely not to know just how strong she really made them until it's far, far too late. Maybe that's why Tayte looks at her drink an extra moment before knocking it back so she has an excuse to rise and join him. "I would like to be your weyrmate," in case he wasn't sure. "But if I can't be that, co-parenting is better than being at odds. It means we discuss and compromise and generally agree about how to raise her." She steps closer so she's in his personal space, nearly-but-not-quite touching him. "No one buys her outrageous gifts," Tayte levels a pointed look at him at the words 'no one,' "Or gets to be the 'cool parent.'" She makes the air quotes and uses it as an excuse to let her hand come to rest on his bicep. "We're in it together. No bad parent or good parent unless we're both one or the other." Sounds good, right? "Shells, no. Not indefinitely, anyway. I didn't do this so I could fuck other women." By the time Tayte's made her way over to him, he's well on his way through his second drink. H'vier frowns at the proximity she ends up having to him, but he doesn't move away. If his eyes are drawn toward her lips while she's talking, he can hardly be blamed for that. "Sure. No outrageous gifts. No trying to be the favorite. A unified front." Like a two man wing versus the threat of children. Except his gaze never quite lifts up again, only over to her hand. "But you don't want to fuck me anymore." Tayte says lightly, letting her fingers trail idly (no, really!) down his bicep. "A unified front," she agrees, leaning a little closer and letting her lips exaggerate the word 'unified' because being unified could totally be dirty if they were talking about something else, right? It might seem like negotiations are done then, only as she leans quite close to reach for one of the glasses in front of him, she asks, "How often would you like to have her with you?" That first comment is so untrue that H'vier has a difficult time processing it immediately. By the time he has, she's moved on somewhat and he's left frowning at her with furrowed brows. "As often as seems appropriate." But, more importantly, "Do you really think I don't want to fuck you anymore? Have you gone truly insane, woman? Of all the ridiculous things you've gotten into your head, that must be the most ridiculous." "Well, you did break up with me. That does rather imply a lack of interest in continuing to fuck one another." Fuck, love, etc. Boiling it down to sex is probably the way Tayte keeps herself from being tearful (which is the opposite of sexy, like those trailing fingers along his forearm now). That, and an unhealthy level of denial. It's been awhile since H'vier really got that look in his eyes. The one he gets before he loses his temper, before he does stupid shit. There's a flicker of it there now. The only stupid thing he does now is set his drink aside and grab for her arm to pull her tight against him. His other hand slips behind her neck so he can kiss her, hard. Tayte must have anticipated this possibility because she never ended up picking up her glass. She also moves willingly against him, returning the kiss passionately and without reservation. Of course, there's something to be said for the mothers' adage: why buy the cow if one can get the milk for free? The blonde lets the kiss go on, but then is seeking to pull away. "Havi, weyrmate me." It's a request, but one with determination behind it. The one hand stays against her neck and the other wanders as much as it can while till sort of holding Tayte against him. H'vier is breathing harder by the time she starts pulling away, but he resists. He wants her close. He wants to keep kissing her and he's trying to pull her hem up with the one hand against her ass. "Tayte," he says meaningfully, almost pleading. Tayte stops pulling, but she doesn't return from whence she came, still in his arms, but a little apart. She's not stopping his attempt with her skirt, and in fact her hands drop tantalizingly to his belt now. "I want to, Havi. Almost more than anything." She's breathing hard too, so that's probably not a lie. "It kills me to know that if we don't, you'll probably-" Ha, probably, "find the nearest willing warm body, or worse, Her and finish what we're starting, but I want more than to just be your fuck toy. I love you, Havi. Can we please forget all this breaking up nonsense?" She is pleading and her hands have slipped behind that belt and down just to make sure she doesn't lose his interest in all that disagreeable talking. That is playing dirty. Even more than her makeup and clothes and shoes and alcohol. How is a man like H'vier supposed to resist any of that, let alone all of it put together? He makes a sound like a growl while he tries to make his brain work but, in the end, he says, "Fine, dammit. Fine. Leave the heels on." To be fair, not much is probably going to come off if he can just push it out of the way. If Tayte didn't feel like she was winning, it would probably be a very different experience. To the best of her ability she draws this out, makes it awesome, as rewarding as he deserves for coming around as he should. If only she knew... This isn't what winning looks like. It's not until he's made good use of her hard work that H'vier starts thinking properly again. He's still panting, still pressed against her with his arms wrapped possessively around her, when he comes to his senses. "No," he murmurs at first. "Fuck. This wasn't supposed to happen. Dammit, Tayte." Like this was totally all her fault and not his at all. He pushes away, standing up to put himself away and refasten his belt while he says, "This doesn't change anything." Even though he said it did before the sex. Well, doesn't Tayte feel stupid? That must sting. Her eyes follow him and as she starts to straighten it can be guessed that she feels as used as she looks. "You said..." She starts, eyes wide as one hand tries to tug the tight skirt back into place. "That look," says H'vier, pointing at her with one hand and looking more angry than he really has any right to be at all. "That look is what I'm trying to stop putting on your face." And because using her and then getting mad at her for encouraging it in the first place isn't bad enough, the bronzerider turns toward the door as though he's going to leave her there to deal with it on her own. "You're a sharding idiot!" Tayte shouts at his back, whether it stops him or not. At least she doesn't throw a glass, even if she does turn around to grab one and down the contents in three swallows. H'vier pauses at the door with his hand on the handle. He glances back in her direction like he might just respond in a more typical fashion. But instead he says, calmly, "Goodbye, Tayte." Then he opens the door, steps through, and slams it somewhat less calmly behind him. H'vier didn't think he was getting away without having to hear the heartbreak he caused, did he? Because the wail that follows him out the door has a passing crafter stopping short to give him a look. Probably, Tayte will be checked upon as soon as the bronzerider leaves, judging from the way the woman starts to linger. Probably, K'del will hear about this, even before Tayte goes to him. Doesn't she always, after all? |
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