Logs:Post-Post-Flight
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| RL Date: 4 September, 2014 |
| Who: G'laer, Oliwer |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: After the Teisyth's first flight caught by a female rider, Oliwer has feelings to process with G'laer; unsurprisingly this happens with alcohol and sex. |
| Where: Snowasis, Bowl, Bookworm's Paradise Weyr (G'laer & Oliwer's), High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 20, Month 9, Turn 35 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Quinlys/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: Sex, angst. Back-dated. |
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| The longer that G'laer and Oliwer are together, one might expect that it's easier for him to deal with Teisyth's flights and the people his weyrmate ends up with as a result. The healer probably wishes that were the case. He was just getting off of his shift when the green rose and, since it was nearby, Oliwer set up camp at the bar in Snowasis. It's not like he's much of a drinker to begin with, though, so it doesn't take much of something harder than wine to make him... well, a little emotional. It's not difficult for him to figure out who won, either. That information is only a question to a dragonrider away. It might be that information that keeps him from leaving the bar. G'laer usually stops for a drink (or a bottle) after Teisyth's flight since Snowasis can easily be seen as a convenient "on the way" (sort of) spot between bathes and bowl, so it's unsurprising to see him, freshly bathed, making his way toward the bar. Briefly, his surprise at seeing Oliwer there shows on his face and he adjusts his trajectory to approach and reach to lay a hand lightly on his shoulder, "Oli." Oliwer is too busy staring through the counter to see G'laer come in. And he's a little too drunk to actually startle at the hand that touches his shoulder. But he does turn his head to look at the man who says his name, brows furrowed like he's the last person he expected to see here. Possibly the last person he wants to see here right now, while he's like this. G'laer takes it in, the sight of him, his slow reaction, the glass(es) on the bar in front of him. He draws a slow breath and then says quite gently, "Let's go home." "Go ahead," says Oliwer with apparently no intention of actually moving from where he's currently sitting. He reaches for the only glass that still has something in it to take a drink as though to emphasize the point that he's planning on staying. G'laer looks at Oliwer a moment and then shifts onto the empty stool next to him, raising his hand to ask for one of what the healer's having. Apparently, if Oliwer is going to stay, so will G'laer. Oliwer doesn't seem to have any opinion on whether G'laer sits there or not. Or maybe he does, because he more or less ignores him for an extended period of time. But, finally, after he asks for another drink from the bartender, he asks the greenrider without looking at him, "Is it different with a woman?" "Less painful." G'laer answers with the apparent how and not the 'yes' that might quickly lead Oliwer down the rabbit hole. He makes no attempt to garner more of the healer's attention. Maybe he's just waiting Oliwer out. The healer gives no indication that he's even heard that answer, let alone whether it affects him one way or another. Well, that's probably what he's hoping, anyway. But it's not like Oliwer's poker face is that great when he's had too much to drink. And probably even less so with a man that knows him so well. Finally, finally, he says, "Good." And then, "You should go home." "My home is where you are," G'laer answers, glancing around, "though I can't imagine they'll like it much if I start stripping down for bed in the middle of the bar." The greenrider reaches to place a firm hand on Oliwer's thigh, "So unless you want me to start making much more public displays of affection," a squeeze of his hand, "You'll leave with me." The gaze Oliwer turns on G'laer is kind of pathetic. The healer looks not unlike a kicked puppy who wants nothing more than to curl up around the feet that kicked him. Not that the feet kicked him on purpose, but there's still a sad uncertainty in those blue eyes of his when he nods and starts shifting off of his stool, setting his unfinished drink back down on the counter. It's probably better that he doesn't finish it anyway. G'laer probably should feel bad for making Oli make the face, but he seems completely unfazed. He let's go of the healer's leg and leans in to speak to the bartender, producing enough marks to cover his own and his weyrmate's drinks before getting to his feet. "Do you need an arm?" Or is the healer steady enough on his own feet to make it out to where the elevator dragon will meet them and take them up. If they make it that far. Fortunately Oliwer is too drunk to probably notice that G'laer doesn't seem to care. Then again, he probably doesn't realize he's making a face that G'laer should care about, either. "I'm fine," he says even as he reaches out to hold onto the greenrider's arm. It's the thought of self-sufficiency that counts, apparently. G'laer shifts subtly to make his arm all the easier to hold onto and leads the way to the bowl. As it happens, though, the greenrider has no intention of making it to where the elevator dragon is waiting for his next trip up. No, as soon as the relative dimness of nighttime in the bowl has consumed them, the man is bringing them to the nearest wall, and his hands are directing Oliwer against it, roughly enough to get the point across of what's about to happen here, but gently enough that the inebriated healer oughtn't stumble. He chose a good spot, a place where the wall curves to a nook visible only from one angle, and if anyone happens by close enough? Well, there's G'laer's back for them to see, one hand firmly clamped over the healer's mouth lest he cry out. The only true protest Oliwer has is slow to the surface and never quite ends up being words once G'laer has him pushed against the cool rock of the wall. It's fortunate that he's a lightweight when it comes to hard alcohol because it means that everything is still working more or less as intended. Even if his head is not quite as on his shoulders as usual. So long as G'laer doesn't mind him breathing hot and heavily around the hand over his mouth, the drunk healer is probably rather content with the way it muffles whatever other noises he happens to make. If G'laer minds the breathing, there's no telling in his performance and when it's over, he embraces Oliwer tightly against him, breathing into his ear a gruff, "That was better than any sharding flight." It's almost certainly a lie if the reputation of dragon sex is to be believed. But isn't it the one Oliwer needs to hear right now? Then he's slipping free, though he maintains one hand on the healer, prepared to steady him. Once his pants are tied and he's lent his hands to similarly assist his weyrmate, he's directing toward the elevator dragon with a determined, "And I'm not finished with you yet." It's all but certainty that Oliwer will have sobered up by the time they're done back at the weyr and G'laer is handing Oli a cup of water. Oliwer might be sober, but between the point G'laer has made quite clear and the lingering sleepiness from the alcohol, the healer isn't in a big hurry to do anything but take the cup of water and hold onto it while he watches the greenrider with a lazy smile pulling at his lips. Is he supposed to be saying anything? Hopefully not, because there's not much going on upstairs right now. Well, if Oli won't speak, G'laer will as he settles beside the healer. "So, are we finished," until the next time Teisyth gets hot and bothered, "with this silly jealousy of yours?" He wants to hear the word, tie up the loose end. "G'laer," murmurs Oliwer like he might argue. But he looks at the greenrider and then his next words are a more passive, "We're finished. I'm sorry." They're finished with him acting noticeably jealous, anyway. But he's still going to ask, "If there were someone else with me during her flights, would you be jealous?" He'll even take a drink now. G'laer looks at him when he might argue. He grunts at the apology that he probably feels is unnecessary, but looks like he's accepted the matter resolved, even starting to get up until Oliwer asks that. Then he looks at him again. With a heavy sigh he resettles and shifts closer to the older man to place a hand lightly on his thigh. "Oli, it's not a fair comparison. I would be jealous. Not only because you don't have to be with someone. I don't want to be with any of these people, and you know it." Or should. He's said it enough times. "I didn't say it was fair," the healer points out. Because he's well aware that it's not. "And I don't want to be with anyone else. But that doesn't make how I feel about it on occasion silly." Oliwer sets the water aside or hands it off so G'laer can set it aside, and then he's tucking up against the greenrider in a way that's nearly possessive, as Oliwer goes. "I don't hold it against you. I don't hold it against Teisyth. You know I don't. But that doesn't mean I'm happy about it. Or that I can just pretend it doesn't happen. Jealousy isn't rational. Love isn't rational." G'laer sighs. He's leaning a little away from that possession, but after a moment stops, sighing again. Irrational things. They're sigh-worthy in G'laer's book. "Do you want me to say it's not silly?" He sounds like he would, but maybe not mean it entirely. The leaning away makes Oliwer glance up at G'laer uncertainly. Whether it's responsible for the simple, "No," he responds with is unclear, but that's all the healer says. He withdraws somewhat and rolls over carefully to curl up against his pillow instead. G'laer looks sorely tempted to just get up and go do other things until all this feeling business is done with. But there's a Teisyth living in his head. He sighs heavily now, and lays back, with his fingers laced across his belly. "It was good, Oli. I'm sorry it was good. I'd've not done it if I could've. I wouldn't do it again unless Olveraeth catches again." Probably. "But I can't change any of. So what can I do to make it up to you?" Because clearly, something needs to be done. Oliwer would probably prefer G'laer just got up and did other things, admittedly. Or maybe he'd rather if he'd just lay with him and hold him. But, of course, he says neither of these things. Without turning over, he says, "You don't need to do anything, G'laer. Thank you for telling me." It's not especially enthusiastic gratitude, but that can hardly be less than expected. It really won't help things that G'laer sounds detached (or maybe just defeated) when he says, "I do. I've hurt you. So unless you want the answer to be me leaving you so I don't hurt you again, we have to figure something out." That makes Oliwer sit up and look over at G'laer with anger lighting up his blue eyes. "Is that the only answer? You leaving or you making 'it' up to me?" Whatever 'it' is. The way he asks the question suggests there's only one proper response. "Well, you can't just stay hurt every time it happens," comes G'laer's ornery response, jaw set as he looks at Angry Oli. "I'll get over it," says Oliwer with his voice raised a little higher than he usually manages. But instead of his anger rising further, it stays more or less where it is. "I don't want to fight. And I don't want you to leave. Not ever. Can we just... leave it?" G'laer looks at Oliwer. He looks, and he looks, jaw growing tighter with each passing moment. Then he's getting out of the bed and finding his pants. No explanation, of course. Nothing that would help allay any fears that he's leaving For Good. "G'laer." It's partly a worried question and partly a warning. Oliwer wants to make sure he's thinking about what he's doing and not just doing... what he does. He's chased after him before but, just now, he doesn't seem in any state of mind to leave the bed. There's a light taste of copper and nuts suddenly; just enough to be a presence. It might make G'laer's frustrated, "I'm just going out there-" and a point toward the ledge make more sense. "I need a minute." Well, that's communication so, that's something? Progress! Oliwer looks toward the ledge even before G'laer points that way. It's bad enough to have stale alcohol in his mouth. The cooper and nuts don't help very much. But they're oddly comforting anyway. So he doesn't say anything else and just watches the greenrider as he goes. It's more than one minute that he's gone. It's many. So many that G'laer maybe waking the healer to pull him gently into his embrace and murmur in his ear, "I'm sorry. I hate myself when I hurt you." Then, "I love you, Oliwer. More than words." And he simply stops there, because there aren't words, apparently. Even if the healer slept through it, the greenrider doesn't go on. He simply keeps himself pressed close to the older man, brow wrinkled until slumber smooths it. Oliwer has indeed dozed off by the time G'laer returns. But he rouses back into something resembling consciousness when he's drawn into the greenrider's embrace. That doesn't mean he's entirely aware of what he's saying, but he's aware of enough to murmur back, "I love you, too." And then he's relaxing against his weyrmate, slipping into a deeper, more restful sort of sleep. |
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