Ruin's Revenge

Xanadu Weyr - Guest Weyr
Rustic and simple, this one-roomed cottage sits at the edge of the forest near the feeding grounds. The decor is spartan with a wide, comfortable bed and a couch, table and chairs and small kitchenette. Kept stocked with food and drink, the bed freshened with sheets and coverlets after each use by the weyrstaff, it's nothing more than a place to give riders participating in mating flights a bit of privacy when they need it.

Disclaimer: LET'S TALK ABOUT SEX, BABY~~ No, but really, they talk about sex, a little in depth and there's nudity. It is Kihatsuth's maiden flight, after all.

It may be officially winter, but autumn still reigns, as no snow has fallen and the temperatures have not reflected the quiet change of one season to the next. The skies are clear, the winds gusty and the air crisp with a faint bite as the hours bleed onward into evening. As the sun sets, the sky becomes a riot of colours and the Weyr’s activity dwindles as all retire for the night. Elsewhere though? A thrum of hushed anticipation, a palatable haughty air, where Kihatsuth holds court. She has found a high perch somewhere on which to lounge, ever-calm and preening her over-long, curled, talons like not a thing is awry with the world. There is a noticeable gleam to her hide now, magnified as the sun lowers further down the horizon. It’s on the very cusp, when light is but a thin thread of fate on the horizon line, that she rouses. A languid stretch of her frame, a sweep and full extension of her wings in an expressive show of slumbering power. Those talons click against the rocky edges of her perch, eyes now whirling in a mixture of red and violet as she carries her head just-so. Avian like, but predatory. « I know of something just screaming out to be destroyed! » She will announce on broadband sweep, cackling in delight for her own terrible humor as she launches herself into the air and to the pens with speed. COME NOW, boys! It is time for chaos’ reign! And for one bronze in particular, she extends what may be a too-tempting invitation. Come, come, Glorioth! Help her paint the grounds red with the blood of her —prey— foes!

And oh, OH, what a mercy it is for Ru’ien! Some riders dread this moment but for him, he could cry from the relief — if he wasn’t already mostly Kihatsuth’s puppet by the time the sun sets. Like a viral takeover, proddiness left him at the whims of growing restlessness, texture fixations, overheating and lastly… lack of sleep. He’d spent the whole previous night awake, too uncomfortable in his own skin to unwind and it worsened as the day progressed. Now? Now is different. Now is BETTER and Ru’ien doesn’t fight the inevitable. Out by the cliffs, he’d come there to watch the sun vanish below the horizon, likely more in-tune with the green than he’d admit (or maybe that was her, using him as proxy, while she feigned nothing amiss). Wind gusts up over the waters and Ru’ien tilts his chin up into it, eyes closing briefly as he takes in great lungfuls of air — he’s burning up now, but this is familiar despite the intensity. On the exhale, he begins to chuckle, then to laugh, deep rolling, dark laughter that tapers with an almost manic sigh. Oh yes, yes, this is MUCH BETTER~ The other riders will no doubt be seeking him out, now that Kihatsuth has begun to blood along with her would-be courters and challengers. Ru’ien strolls with arrogant confidence back to the paths leading to the ground weyrs created for this time and purpose.

He will greet each individual with a constant change of fluctuating emotions as they converge on that weyr. Ru’ien crosses boundaries, is right into everyone’s personal space, as quips and barbs and heavy flirting with everything in between to follow. He will touch, and lean, and press and yet somehow know which of those would tolerate it and seemingly respectful to any not as receptive. Chaos, but with a delicate fine-line balance! If he recognizes any of the faces joining him, they will receive adequate expressive greetings. For F’yr, there will be the most feral, wicked curved grin, yet — smug and pleased, like he KNEW he would be present. There is a visible shudder in his frame, timed with the sweep of his hands over his hair as his back curves just as Kihatsuth takes to the skies. She taunts them all with sarcasm and biting humor, while mocking their foolishness for daring to take on her power. They’ve no idea what they’re dealing with! And she will show them! Those very cliffs Ru’ien once stood on are angled for, with Kihatsuth taking them low in a dash over the forests, steep angled to those cliffs, where the gusts and thermals are wild and unpredictable. Which is the point! They lose a few chasers in those mere moments, something that only fuels Kihatsuth’s amusement and drive to push EVERYONE along with herself to the absolute limit of physical strength.

Her flight will be fast and fierce, as she arcs in a dizzying, punishing, climb up and up above the open waters. All the while, she paints expressively through emotion and reactions and reflects as much through Ru’ien himself. There is no separating them, then, as he weaves among those who’ve settled in to wait out the storm; a strange dance that feeds on their reactions as much as his. Everyone is given attention, though it drifts further from conversation and more to the physical realm or merely a look or smirk or grin to imply enough to get the message across. It could be as intense in that small ground weyr as it is above, with other emotions running high and higher yet — it’s a wonder a fight doesn’t break out. Perhaps it comes dangerously close (or it occurs elsewhere, later, among the exodus of the disappointed)… Ru’ien is unaware. Swept up in the heat of it all, the thrill of it all, it isn’t until Kihatsuth’s endurance wanes at last and, sensing the end, folds her wings and turns on the remainder of her followers. Several are found wanting and are evaded, but not so in the case of one and Glorioth claims victory yet again. As Kihatsuth is caught, Ru’ien’s gaze (so bright, so feverish) darts to F’yr, even as the other riders disperse and melt away around them. His skin is flushed, hair all but undone from the tie it was in, his posture still arrogant and confident, though now those notes are changing too. Even before the last soul has left them alone, he is reaching for the bronzerider with an extended hand, seeking him. Aiming to claim him as much as Glorioth has with Kihatsuth (or was it really the other way around?), as they will undoubtedly both join each other as he draws them back towards that bed — IF he even manages that far.

Winter is the season of lethargy, the lull in life that comes with the changing of the last season into this next of somnolence. The world will hold its breath for spring through those snows of winter, but just now it's still on that final gasp, on the death rattle that shakes loose the last leaves in those gusty winds that nibble the nose and tease the toes, but don't yet sting in numbing needles. The transitioning in that routinely unique resting of Rukbat and before the rising of the moon brings is yet one more natural change, just as Kihatsuth's rousing from a world where she had never risen into a world meant for her flight… and Glorioth is ready.

It would be easy to underestimate the dumb-as-rocks bronze who cuts such a fine (if small) figure. It's obvious his biology made compromises in the shell: intelligence for exterior glory, a conscience for physical prowess, but when it comes to tactics that tap right into his favorite topic (himself) and his top-notch performance, Glorioth is a shockingly fast study. Before Koth, he hadn't recognized the opportunity being offered him on such a palatable platter: every time a hide gets glowy, shiny or otherwise subtly different, there's an impending opportunity to SHOVE EVERY UNWORTHY FACE RIGHT INTO THE RADIANCE OF HIS VALOR, THE PROOF OF HIS VIRILITY AND VIGOR. And really, what green wouldn't want a piece of this hot bronze bod? Especially when so many of those gathering in anticipation of the long taloned disease artist reek with such an air of VIRGIN.


While Glorioth is busy earning his REDACTED sticker, it's important to note that Koth's flight was something of an ambush (HOW DARE), but that this flight is not that. With his newfound awareness of just what this opportunity presents, Glorioth has been aware of that shift in Kihatsuth's hide for some days. His notice of her was shockingly subtle and entirely motivated by self-interest, but what counts here is that no small amount of idiot-brained-thought has gone into this challenge… issued by him. To all of them. Kihatsuth barely counts except that she's the token by which his proof literally won. ROMANTIC, NO?

Just because he's ready, though, doesn't mean that Kihatsuth can't still surprise him, and she does, delightfully. HIS FAVORITE THINGS: BLOOD AND KILLING WHICH EQUALS HONOR. He'll generously let her do the painting; let it not be said Glorioth has no heart, even if the presence of other important organs (LIKE A BRAIN, you only wish it were the other one relevant here) might begin to be lacking in convincing evidence by the time he's done running his mouth mind at the other males. Let the carnage commence and the fornication finish it, just as soon as she's ready.

F'yr, much like Ru'ien, hasn't been sleeping (or at least not well), but not because he's been living in anticipation of Kihatsuth's flight in particular, but rather because he's been dreading any flight. Surely, one must come. And then another. And another. It hasn't happened quite that way and maybe that's why F'yr has been extra eager to take additional shifts that get him and his dragon away from any glowy piece of tail that might happen across their path. It serves him right that he was here, and sleeping in a rare nap when Kihatsuth's call went out. And since Glorioth is already there, it means F'yr is running from his homestead, feet shoved into boots and already looking entirely disheveled. What this translates to, in practicality, is that F'yr is, at least initially, slightly worryingly absent. Maybe given the marks of violence left on V'ro for all to see, he's just not going to show? Maybe Ru'ien will have to weather this storm… alone? With a different partner even if Glorioth does manage to repeat his IMPOSSIBLE QUEST SUCCESS with a SECOND GREEN IN A ROW?

But, no, for all Glorioth's many (many, many, many, many, many) faults, F'yr is dependable. Even with his conflicted feelings about participating in the flight on the whole, he does straggle through the doorway, out of breath and dead last. That means he misses some of Ru'ien's fun, but not all of it. If the greenrider's barbs and quips want to make a thing of his late arrival, the response is almost too easy, "Latest to arrive, latest to leave, Ruin." He's in it to win it, or at least he'll make that face because Glorioth is and F'yr gets no say really (when does he ever with Glorioth?). Glorioth is (are you sitting down?) just as unaffected by Kihatsuth's sarcasm and taunts as F'yr is by Ru'ien's. Why? Because frankly, she's lost him… but only mentally. It's fine, he doesn't have to be brain-smart to be body-best. « AHAHAHAHAHAHA HAHAHAHAHAHAHA HAHAHAHAHAHA! »

He's certainly not the oldest dragon here, but he's served by his many, many, many (many, many, many) extra flying patrols over Xanadu as a self-appointed sentinel; he knows these thermals, the ways in which the gusts are unpredictable. He can't predict the particulars of the chaos, but he can and does use his variety of experiences here to react faster, to make better snap-decisions (since he rarely makes any other kind anyway), and in the end, he's fearlessly tangling with those too-long talons, digging his own into green hide in a way that isn't kind but is surely going to lead to the stabbing of Kihatsuth's life to date (YOU'RE WELCOME; you may sing his praises when he's finished, or before, before is fine too, but no premature endings - he certainly won't be giving her one of those).

"Fuck," might be the only sign that F'yr isn't entirely thrilled about Glorioth's improbable, impossible success. Like killing a river, he's done the undoable. At least the swear is under his breath, even as he's already in motion, tugging his shirt up and off. Fear knows he has about three seconds to get in anything he wants any measure of control over, about three seconds before Glorioth's brief distraction in the moment of catch is over and his lizard dragon brain (yes, laugh all you want at the density, but it's there after all) reasserts its reigning dominance in his mind. The most important thing, other than kicking off his boots and starting at the fastenings of his pants, is urgently speak just four words to the greenrider. "Work with me, Ruin." It's a warning and a request all at once. It's all there's time to say as he reaches for the brunette, moving with him even as F'yr's using that arm to pull them together. Bodies clash together in involuntary echo of their other halves, moving with provocative purpose, as one, toward the bed and all the promises of pleasure therein.

Oh, Kihatsuth will not be singing praises but she is neither spitting venomous threats at Glorioth once he’s successfully captured her! Those talons digging in will be returned in kind — mostly because it cannot be helped, but she makes no effort to be gentle either. There are MORE IMPORTANT tasks at hand, truthfully! Will it be the stabbing of her life to date? No doubt she has OPINIONS on the matter; if not to just goad the bronze further because … why not? It is not like she can fight nature’s course now (and nor does she entirely WISH too. IMPALE AWAY, GLORIOTH IF YOU DARE! Don’t flinch now under her TALONS, BRONZE!). He has succeeded where others have (PATHETICALLY) failed and thus he should be rewarded — for the time being, she is compliant while they begin their downward descent.


While Ru’ien is in no immediate rush to part from F’yr’s company, the same can’t be said for Kihatsuth. For whenever they do return, Glorioth’s ‘reward’ for a STABBING WELL DONE will be to rest in her company — unless the bronze merely takes off. Which he does! Wham, bam, thank you sir, for your service! « Now, be a dear and… get out. » Of her sight. She cares not if he goes boasting across the Weyr, so long as it's over at that end and far from her. It’s a thin veiled warning that the green will not repeat, as she nigh goes into praying mantis mode and will (verbally) bite the bronze’s head off if he dares infringe on her sanctuary any longer. Of course, said threats are said with lurking FONDNESS and maybe there’s a little painted <3 above the scenery of their previous carnage prior to her flight. There’s even an implied hint that the bronze is welcomed later (tea and biscuits?), when she may have need of him or if the urge to decimate her adversaries comes about. For now, however? She desires to be alone, to preen and bask in her own smugness.

REST? AHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHA. Wait- « AHAHAHAHAHAHA HAHAHAHAHAHA! ONWAAAAAaaaaaAAAAaaaaaaAAAAARD!! » And off he goes. Glorioth's energy is as boundless as his idiocy. The bronze beacon of bravado and POTENCY lives to stab another day. (Probably soon. Poor F'yr.) He doesn't really wait for Kihatsuth's warning, though it may well follow him as he launches himself back into the sky to soar above the Weyr, showing off his supreme SUPERBITY. Why? As if Glorioth really needs a reason, but if he does, it's because it's been suitably, IMPRESSIVELY, long as flights go. THIS IS NO SHORT SATISFIER, THANK YOU MANLY MUCH, and the Weyr needs to see the proof, so as to appropriately compose their bolstering ballads and motivating melodies for the NEXT TIME he issues challenge, and WINS. It would be nice to say that he regards Kithatsuth with some measure of fondness for the opportunity for the win, but… honestly, Glorioth still isn't thinking about anyone but Glorioth. OH WELL.

None can be more relieved than F'yr himself with Glorioth's lovestab-'em-and-leave-'em attitude. This philosophy frees the bronzerider's mind from that intensely intertwined state that he and his lifemate seem only to share so intimately from blooding to departure. Now, as much as Kihatsuth is abandoned without a second thought, so is F'yr - inasmuch as Glorioth ever abandons his F'yrfully fated for forever lifemate. What it means is that the kiss shifts from flight lust to the quiet ardor shared between lovers. It means there's warmth in the welcome of his arms as Ru'ien settles in. It means there's as much give as there is take, his long limbs entangling with the greenrider's, his body shifting a little so that the embrace isn't about who's on top of whom, but rather the mingling of equals. His forehead is left there against Ru'ien's some moments, as breaths are shared, as those tiny tremors of aftershocks translate from one large frame to the other and back. Then his chin tips, lips speaking secrets in the soft kiss he seeks to share with his partner of the moment, his friend for life (one can hope, anyway). It's only when the kiss breaks of its own, lazy, tender, deep accord that he can find some words— any words. Okay, just one word: "Okay?" Is Ru'ien okay? Is what they did just now okay? Is what they're doing now okay? Just… okay?

There is only relief, pure RELIEF, in Ru’ien to feel Kihatsuth’s hold on him lessened to a far more tolerable buzz. Not fully purged from his system but enough that he can relax (actually relax!) for the first time in days. He doesn’t mind the shift in tone of those kisses, nor the warmth in the welcoming invitation F’yr presents. Content, so content, to embrace and tangle in a much different manner now. His eyes have drifted closed, though sleep is still far off, despite the hour. That soft kiss is returned and answered, one between partners and certainly between friends for life (one can hope and be reassured — Ru’ien isn’t one to be easily chased off or let go once trust is laid down in foundation). As they break apart from that kiss, Ru’ien has already begun to set his head down with a low, satisfied hum, when F’yr finds his words — or word, rather. There is a light, breathy, chuckle and his head shifts, eyes still closed as he shamelessly nuzzles against the bronzerider’s neck and beneath the curve of his jaw. It’s a fond thing and gentle and probably SHOULD have words with it but there is only another amused huff of breath. “Do you have to ask? Isn’t it obvious?” he drawls, lazily and somewhat hoarsely — and he’s misunderstood. Ru’ien’s mind has gone for one vein, which has likely nothing to do with what F’yr was hoping to aim for. It’s not until Ru’ien opens his eyes a fraction, narrowed just enough to realize… no, this was something else, wasn’t it? Time to sober, only he doesn’t fully, but only softens his blunder with a vague hint of one of his usual smiles. SORRY, F’YR, he can’t help it! Which should be key that yes, everything is O K A Y in the greenrider’s book. Lifting his head just enough to prop it on his curled fist, elbow thus propped on the bed, he’ll focus more on the bronzerider. “… more than okay. Very okay.” Does that answer things? No? Ru’ien’s eyes drift close again, brows furrowed lightly in thought and… yes, one of his hands will trail idly over F’yr’s side or chest if permitted to do so. Eyes open again, upturned to meet his, should he happen to be looking his way (and even if not). “Are you alright?” he asks, quietly, in… yes, that is concern hovering there. Just the tiniest open spark of it! Yet he ruins the effect by trying to mask it beneath a faintly smug look, like he already knows both potential answers — or the ones he’s already fabricating in that head of his.

There are many tiny things that reassure the bronzerider. Was he concerned? Certainly enough to make the one word, and after the last flight, it's probably a fair question for F'yr's experiences to date, but he wasn't so worried that the little indicators and the words Ru'ien summons up at last can't completely put to bed any of his lingering worry. He shivers as the smith's face presses into his neck, fingers tightening against bare flesh wherever they hold him. There's a pleased little, "Mm," noise from the bronzerider, though he doesn't speak again yet. His eyes follow up to Ru'ien's face when the greenrider props his head up, his features shifting into a look of aesthetic appreciation for the disheveled state of brown hair and kiss-plumped lips. F'yr's physical appreciation for a person is never without the direct line to the source: his appreciation for them as a person. The look is both a little yearning and fond, as a hand comes up to cup Ru'ien's cheek and brush across the plane of it before going to his jaw, down his neck and inevitably back up to tangle into his hair, fingertips rubbing in light massage of the muscles at the base of the skull. If he gives a surreptitious glance down across the greenrider's body, just to reassure himself that there's not more than a handful or less of places where roughness left evidence behind on skin rather than the unfortunate host V'ro was left with… well, that's as much for his sanity as because he's never been in a position to appreciate the view from quite this proximity before. "Very alright," he answers, letting his hand slip free of Ru'ien's hair to continue a caress along shoulder and down the arm to briefly cover the hand on his chest with his own, squeezing lightly before freeing to wander as it wills. "Do you need any numbweed? Water? Anything?" That's next on F'yr's mental checklist of post-flight care (sounds very familiar from the lecture, right?). It does not stop him, however, from giving the greenrider a soft look and saying, "Thank you for helping me, Ruin. I don't know that I could have gotten him to go for reversing the roles." That much gratitude really does need to be expressed because here, now, there's nothing confusing (yet) for F'yr to feel about the flight experience itself.

That shiver draws a slow curving smile from Ru’ien and had things not progressed quite as they had, the would’ve nuzzled F’yr again to see if the response repeats itself — he settles, instead, for tucking that little thought away. His hair is certainly dishevelled, thanks to the length it has grown too and with no indication from the greenrider that he means to cut it all. As that hand comes up to cup his cheek, he finds himself tilting his head into the touch, allowing F’yr free access and more for such a gesture. Oh, oh and then he’s in his hair and lightly massaging and Ru’ien’s eyes flutter closed again with a very pleased sounding sigh. The bronzerider will get all the time in the world to appreciate the view and the perks of proximity undisturbed, as the greenrider is thusly preoccupied and not catching those looks or he would have surely commented. It’s true that his skin doesn’t hold any evidence beyond what one might expect after such roughness; some marks may appear later but they will be minimal. Not overly concerning and Ru’ien isn’t one to mind, unknowing and oblivious to F’yr’s thoughts or the scenario between him and V’ro. “Liking what you see?” he teases mildly, if belated, in a voice still roughened about the edges. He’d missed those looks, but the wandering hand is enough to draw that remark out at last, along with a faint amused huff of breath. He’s not against letting his own gaze wander, appreciative of F’yr, but also of their current joined positions and the affair as a whole. “Good.” It’s almost purred, the way he drags it out but it’s more of a lazy thing than sultry in essence. There’s even a hint of a smug smirk at play, which falters as he has to pull at his lower lip slightly to keep from laughing for the checklist suddenly thrust upon him. “Hey…” he breathes, taking his turn now to cup F’yr’s cheek. “Relax.” What’s the hurry? Ru’ien is doing an excellent job of exuding the boneless feeling taking over him right now. Come, Fear, join him! But he isn’t wholly dismissive and, shifting closer as he rests his head by the bronzerider’s shoulder, he does a half-assed inventory of any discomforts. Which F’yr’s going to be aware of, as their close proximity won’t allow for even the smallest of movements to go unnoticed. “Mhm, no on the numbweed. I’ll live.” Which means he’s aching but it’s nothing that he cannot handle. “Probably should drink… maybe clean up a little. Damp cloth ought to do it.” Bare minimum because? “I don’t want to move,” he admits in a light groan, emphasizing said desire by draping himself just-so. He won’t restrict F’yr, if the bronzerider is insistent on going now for those ‘tasks’. Though likely before he can make a full escape, however temporary, Ru’ien will echo that same soft look and a genuine smile. “Anytime.” Which is a ‘your welcome’. See? He CAN BE SERIOUS! For a few minutes. Mustering the strength to attempt a press of his palm to the man’s chest or, at the very least, a slow drag of a lone finger, before he is out of reach, Ru’ien will don the humorous mask again, unable to resist despite it being more of an effort now with himself so thoroughly exhausted (in good ways). “You owe me, bronzerider…” he enunciates the last with a heavily spun teasing tone. Or is it all a tease? “I don’t like taking that role much.” NEVER MIND that flights will have to be the exceptions overall (and go on F'yr, ASK HIM WHY, DOUBLE DARE). With a crooked grin, a little stifled chuckle, he will flop back onto the bed. “You made such a convincing argument…” he muses then. Did he? Does F’yr remember that moment? Ru’ien seems to have retained something, though his grasp is likely feeling like a fistful of sand at the moment.

Hurry? What hurry? The moment that Ru'ien is telling F'yr to relax, is conveying without words the lack of need to attend to that mental checklist, the bronzerider is surrendering to his own feel of boneless satisfaction, sighing softly as muscles that had been preparing to attempt to function again are left to go lazy. If his capitulation to what Ruin's way of being, way of thinking, seems unexpectedly quick, it's because that's the very page F'yr longs to be on himself, now that they've turned past the dutiful and supportive partner bit. His hand moves to flutter strokes along the greenrider's skin while he shifts to do that brief assessment, watching his face, but not interfering with the process in word or action (except for maybe being a slight distraction). That F'yr takes him at his word for that assessment might be telling of the experience he's gained between the time that Koth went up and the time Kihatsuth took to the sky. "Good," is his only word for all of that. He listens further to the greenrider's 'shoulds,' looking amenable enough generally, despite those traveling fingers, to comply if that's what's really wished for, but as Ruin goes on, it's plain that's not the immediate wish and Fear is only too happy to remain just where he's at, just the smallest hint of a smile on his lips while his eyes take in Ru'ien's face. "Then it can wait," is simple. When Ru's ready for water and a cloth, F'yr can fetch them, for now he'll take his turn nuzzling into the other man's neck briefly on the heels of that genuine smile. Of course, his nuzzling comes with a nip and lick, so… The palm on his chest has one of F'yr's leaving Ru'ien to come up and briefly cover it, a single brow lifting a little at the tease, the words that follow, that crooked grin. F'yr's expression is quietly amused, his hand leaving its place over the other man's to come up and brush the backs of his fingers down Ru's cheek before going up to make a process of gently combing back some of his hair. "You can collect when you're up to it," he offers perhaps more sincerely than his partner was expecting. "Of course, telling me you don't enjoy taking that role much doesn't inspire confidence that I'll enjoy the experience," he admits, with some measure of humor, but also a certain dose of seriousness. "Why don't you like taking it much?" He'll even go so far as to add, "It felt amazing for me," in a shamelessly earnest and complimentary fashion.

Ru'ien is certainly not against any lingering touch from F'yr's hands and if the bronzerider happens to find a particularly sensitive spot or one that merely feels good even in this state? Well, the greenrider will shamelessly move and tilt into it; greedy even now for the continued contact, though things between them have taken quite a relaxed lull. "Mhm, wonderful…" he breathes, half bemused, to F'yr's assurance that certain things can wait. A smile curves his lips at the nuzzling and a low chuckled huff for the nip and lick. It has his eyes opening again, narrowed and mildly playful as they move to focus back on the bronzerider. Careful now, Fear! You might spark something, once Ru'ien's regained his full senses. What that 'something' is, is completely up in the air! It could be anything, it could be everything. But Ru'ien is firmly rooted in the now. His hand stills under F'yr's, and when the bronzerider touches his cheek, his head tilts subtly almost by instinct, while the gentle combing earns a quiet, and pleased, exhale. On a tangent and unguarded whim, he mumbles. "… should I cut it?" He really has let it go and it suits him — for now. There's copious amounts of it, even at shoulder length. As chaotic a mess as his personality. The sincerity offered from F'yr has Ru'ien blinking, eyes caught on his gaze a moment as his mind falters a step behind. Wait, what? "HAH!" The bark of laughter startles even himself, which he luckily settles into a more withheld snickering. It's not as an insult, but more that Ru'ien's having a moment and that is apparently the default 'blue screen' for him. "… wasn't expecting that." Which is 'sorry, bro' in Ru'ien-speak. "Noted, though. You sure you'd want… me, to collect on that?" He hazards gently, suddenly sobering all but his lingering smirk. There's a snort of amusement and a playful, yet fond, smack of the back of his hand to either F'yr's shoulder or arm, or anywhere really, to make his point. He also pointedly side-steps questions in favor of what is obviously easiest. "As it should!" Feel amazing. Ru'ien's going to take his own smugness from that, thank you very much! You're welcome, Fear. "And did it ever." THERE YOU GO, BRO! Bask in some ego. Ru'ien's certainly back to his arrogant self, though he soon draws back on that too. Oh right… questions needing answering and it's here that the greenrider exhales softly, humming quietly in thought. "It's not that it is terrible or bad — far from it? Feels really good, when done right." Oh HO! Another compliment? "Almost too good in some ways. There's one position…" Look, F'yr! DEMONSTRATIONS! With Ru'ien using his hands to illustrate a rather 'commonly' known position under various names, usually with the connotation to canines and styles. "It was… intense. In a good way?" But not so good? "I dunno." Ru'ien pauses a moment to scrub a hand over his face, clearly not accustomed to talking so freely, even if he's only scraping the surface. Yet he seems to take some 'grounding' from having F'yr so close, still. "It was too much, in a sense. Overload? Made me feel — " He rolls a hand now, clearly floundering for the word. For someone so emotive, he isn't so great at pinpointing. He and K'vir both share that flaw in varying ways. "Vulnerable. Scattered. So while I don't hate it and do enjoy myself, a lot," he chuckles a little there, unforgiving for his brash behaviors overall, "In taking, it's just not prefered. I like the control of giving." Now he winks, knowingly, to F'yr. "I think you can see why?" There might even be an attempt of a teasing little nudge of his elbow to the bronzerider's side.

Reactions only spur more. Ru'ien's not the only one in the bed that not only pays attention to reactions and likes them. Various of the brunette's reactions draw subtle smiles of quiet delight from his partner. The tangent topic of his hair as F'yr's fingers through it brings one of F'yr's favorite lazy gestures: the one shouldered shrug. "Only if you like. If you don't now, you can always decide differently later. I like the way you look." That's a period there. Period. He just likes the way Ru'ien looks. Fairly, it probably took a while for the way the greenrider looks to have any impact on F'yr, but now with all that's built between them in time, it does have an impact - just not one that would change with a haircut. Maybe he's feeding the worst of Ru'ien's whimsy and lack of forethought, but what are friends for? At least this time the encouragement is rooted in F'yr's real feelings and not just to urge those qualities along. He's unbothered by the laugh that comes after Ru'ien's blinked at him, lips twitching just slightly for the mental hiccup his willingness has provided. He can't really get closer, but he snuggles a little bit against Ru'ien, skin rubbing skin lightly while he has his moment, not making any indication he was anything less than wholly serious. If F'yr were someone else, he might be next inclined to tell Ru all about how he wants it to be Ru'ien to give him that 'first,' but F'yr is F'yr, and thus consistently candid about himself and his not always standard views of himself and life. "I think a lot of people put more stock in some 'first's than I do, Ruin." It's a little gentle not because Fear's really concerned for his fellow, but just because it seems like Ruin might fall into that category. "It's a first, and that usually makes it a memory, but firsts that don't turn out to suck are just the beginning of something. I can't imagine this is a something that doesn't just get better with time and practice." That being said, the blonde does shift his head so he can look up to Ru'ien, "I trust you, Ruin. I want you. I don't really know what I'm getting into with that, but I want to try it. You want to do it. We're here, all… naked… and exhausted," he'll allow the last one, but humor has begun to lighten the tone of the conversation as he casts a broadening smile up to the greenrider. "We could sleep a while," he suggests, but with a kind of warm twinkle to his eyes, almost verging on the impish, a look that may yet come. There's a smile for the compliments exchanged, although for whatever reason, they don't seem to really cause more basking than a private kind of smile of satisfaction. Just pleased to have pleased his partner? Everyone here's met F'yr, that's probably it. Dope. Before things can get too light, though, there's a little more of the serious to deal with. There are soft touches of F'yr's hands across Ru'ien's skin, the motions shifting from sensuously pleasurable to subtly supportive as he speaks in a way he's unaccustomed to doing, and, of course, he listens. "I won't know how I feel about any of it until I do it. I feel vulnerable just about every moment," he'll just drop that super deep detail right in there and continue on as if it wasn't at all, "so I don't know that that part will bother me." There's that one shouldered shrug again, allowing for whatever needs room in that mental space of uncertainty. "But…" Here, there's a touch of a blush as he draws a breath and smiles through his mildly abashed expression up at Ru'ien, "If you can feel safe with me, I'd like to do more of this sometime." This, that they just did, without the flight, he probably means.

“Mhm, true.” Ru’ien agrees on the assessment of his hair, but also smiles broadly in a way that is warm and gentle as it is smugly teasing for picking up on that ‘liking the way he looks’. He reacts almost instinctually to the snuggling, mirroring a little in turn and welcoming any further closeness as though they weren’t already close enough. Some of that earlier buzz of restlessness is still coursing through him, electric hum beneath his skin in a tolerable amount — for now. This is his first experience with Kihatsuth’s takeover influence, pre-flight proddy and in the heat of the moment; he has no tolerance built (and he may never will). He is genuinely touched by F’yr’s honesty concerning his looks, but that may be just how the greenrider is under compliments and praise — but who is to say if he doesn’t take it to heart, a little? “Probably,” he muses to start with the topic of ‘firsts’. “Don’t normally put much thought into it myself, towards myself,” Ru’ien might be riding the line, so to speak, as to which category he falls into. “Wasn’t setting out to make it a habit either of ‘deflowering virgins.’” Did… did he just air quote? He did. F’yr’s welcome to smother him with a spare pillow, or something! There’s a smirk there, to hint that he’s being rather dry with his humor to an otherwise very serious topic — and that he may not be wholly speaking of experiences between themselves. “Wasn’t expecting to be asked, either.” he admits next, quietly, almost as an aside with a flicker of an expression that seems out of place and introspective — whatever it is that crosses his mind so fleetingly is a flaw directed at himself and no one else.

Then his expression relaxes again as he tilts his head, thoughtful while F’yr looks up at him, absorbing the open truth in the way the bronzerider speaks. Memories? That seems to resonate well with the greenrider; that, as much, shows even in the wry way his eyes narrow and a smile plays upon his lips again. “I trust you too, a lot, or we’d not be here like this.” They’d still be HERE but not with the same level of easy going comfort. Ru’ien would undoubtedly be himself in any scenario but the outcomes would be vastly different. He mulls over the rest, a lopsided half-grin curving his lips in the meantime. A huff, scoffed breath. “Exhausted… for now, you mean?” he teases. He is tempted by the offer to sleep but merely utters a non-committal sound to it. Eh, maybe? Maybe not? So it’s left untouched though if they decide upon it after all of this, there’s likely to be no protest from him. “You do?” Ru’ien fixates on that deep little detail that F’yr drops, though he does not push the bronzerider to elaborate further if he doesn’t desire to. Merely confirming it would be satisfactory, if leaving the greenrider to puzzle over it for a small fraction of a moment. “I do feel safe,” he admits in a moment of clear honesty. “With you. Very few,” TWO WHOLE PEOPLE, actually! F’yr and M’ti. “Do that for me, but right now…? This is — is nice. Wouldn’t trade it!”

Smothering the air-quoting greenrider might be going a bit far. Pinching his rear is not, however, so that's the comeuppance. The objection, however, seems to be, "You're never setting out to do anything, near as I can tell, Ruin." That's kind of his charm? Well, his M.O. at any rate. Don't think Fear hasn't noticed, bro. It's just that… F'yr is fine with it? He's as much in this moment as Ru'ien, not pausing to consider the other experiences that split the hairs of an issue like "virginity." He'll make up for the pinch with a caress though, one that trails over a curve and down a thigh before coming back up the other man's thigh. "I really think you're thinking too hard about this," F'yr says with no trace of irony. "How do you know it's not just because you're here and you want to?" There's something in that that is a bit of a warning - because for all the depth of their friendship and their attachment, since F'yr doesn't place a lot of feeling on the 'first' thing… it really might be that simple for him. Not time like the present? It might have gone that way, save for the need for more words to pass between them. "I mean, I'm feeling quite revitalized." A beat, "Maybe give it few more minutes." They are both young men, after all, and yet, these things aren't instantaneous without the miracles of flight, for example. It proves that they will have a sufficient distraction for a few more minutes yet. It's possible that Ru'ien should have let the deep comment pass. Inarguably, it's in the Smith's nature to provoke responses. It is, however, quite possible that when he made that simple invitation to talk about it, he probably was not prepared for F'yr's catch of breath, a slide of the man's blue eyes to find Ru'ien's, and… sudden tears. The bronzerider has wept before. He wept when Glorioth broke him, again and again, unabashed. He wept when he mourned, shamelessly. But… he's not supposed to weep here. The sudden spring of emotion born away from his innermost wounds seems to be comprised only of a few rogues, sliding away down his temples as fast as they came to the eye. NINJA TEARS. His voice is quiet and rough, but a well of emotion that reaches right down to those hidden depths of himself as he manages a few words. "This place has always undone me. I have never felt sure for longer than a handful of heartbeats together of what I'm doing. I thought he might be the answer. That being with him might change- fix- that feeling of being stripped bare to the world, that he might be my armor. Instead, he's one long exercise in being entirely without any idea if there even is a right or a wrong, if up is down or left is backwards. He's my lesson in learning to be comfortable in knowing anyone in the world could take me apart piece by piece if they set their mind to it; my lesson that there's no such thing as walls that can protect you." He manages to say that with utter sincerity to this man, with all his habitual walls and diversions. "You might as well be who you are because the things you think could protect you are illusions." It's almost bleak. "What protects you is not finding armor, it's learning that you were born naked and clueless and that's how you'll always be. Be who you are, embrace your vulnerability." A few more tears go sliding as he finishes and a sniff saves the breath from giving way to a sob, the look he gives Ru a look of such mingled hope and despair that it's probable that the weight of this knowledge is breaking F'yr's own heart by tiny fractures, all the time. "At least, I sure as shell hope it is because it's really all I've got, Ruin." Who knew behind all the smiles, or the bland silences that there's this hot mess of a man, still here, just a dragonrider now. It was nice, wasn't it? Now it's just… well, fucked? No, because F'yr isn't looking to Ruin for different answers or to share his burdens, he's just sharing of himself, with the person for whom he cares, with whom he feels safe to share, when he could have simply passed the question by with an easy shrug. HE COULD BE DEFLOWERED BY NOW, FOR FARANTH'S SAKE. What is it with bronzeriders and their BIG, DUMB FEELZ.

There is a sharp laugh for that pinch, half exclaimed curse and the rest just genuine chuckled breaths. Ow? He would swat that hand, but the caressing is a nice and much welcomed “apology”. Not that Ru’ien didn’t deserve that pinch (or worse)! “Am I?” he sounds thoroughly bemused at the thought of ‘thinking too hard’, as though the concept applied to him sounds far fetched when repeated on his tongue. Lips curve into another smirk, “… You calling my bluff again?” Bro. He teases once more, before getting to the serious end of things, signalling the shift with a gentle, relaxed, sigh. “No, you’re right. I do know what I want,” That smirk becomes more of a broad, warm smile, then. “And wouldn’t you know it? It’s all here, beside me.” He means it, too, just as he did before. THIS is what he wanted, Kihatsuth’s flight or not and he does not regret it. Another low laugh, more of a huffed breath and chuckled after. “Alright, alright!” A few minutes it is — they’re certainly young men and Ru’ien’s clearly comfortable with his level of libido. It is also very true that he does provoke responses. Often times, it’s what he is reward with that has him seeking out where to push, just to amuse himself. He is not, however, so amused, in this case. When F’yr’s breath catches and he double takes subtly from where he is sprawled on the bed, just in time to catch one —NINJA— tear. Eyes widen, his features drifting into a neutral slack — not of dismay or recoiling, but of quiet surprise and yes… worry. His mouth opens a bit, as if ready to breath a single word or trip into the instinctual light joking, but nothing comes. Instead, the window passes and he waits, leaving Fear to talk, to share in this unguarded moment without the usual interruptions the greenrider is known for. Brows lift not long further in, as something expressed hits close, an unexpected parallel that draws them closer along that vein. Ru’ien is seeing a reflection of himself, however fleeting, and the revelation of this is written all over his face and in his eyes. Who knows? Oh, Ru’ien knows, because he is a man of masked smiles and wild card behaviours for reasons his own but not dissimilar in ways to the struggle of others. No canned answer is voiced or the rehearsed lines of comfort and reassurance. He could pick apart everything said, but he won’t. What he does, is lend his support by saying little. Even though his jaw works, throat visibly swallowing against old habits, as he SEES F’yr for the first time — and he likes this side of him too, even if it draws out some vulnerability in HIM in turn. That vulnerable, unsure, raw side and oh-so familiar. There are no words, just a slow rise and shift of his weight as he leans up in an attempt to place his forehead to F’yr’s. Some of his hair slips forwards to frame both their faces, but that is ignored. One breath, two, three. Held there, eyes closed but connected all the same. His hand may reach for one of his as well, lacing together in a firm, anchoring grip, aiming to press them between their chests and near to their hearts. Little gestures, bigger unspoken messages! Also one of Ru’ien’s M.O.s. “I see you,” he breathes in a low, hoarse whisper. He sees him, acknowledges him, and he understands in ways he won’t express in words for now. He can relate deeply enough, even if not all of what F’yr is experiencing emotionally is entirely the same as Ru’ien’s. He leaves it there for now, this moment between them - open and safe, for the bronzerider to continue, to seek comfort if needed, with no pressure. Unhurried, he will linger there, in this tableau, until it’s natural close. THERE’S SOME BIG, DUMB FEELZ GOING ALL AROUND NOW

F'yr doesn't look to Ru'ien for words, for those clever responses he likes to give. If they were being totally strip-down honest (and they kind of are?), F'yr does not need them. He doesn't bother Ru'ien to change, to be different than Ru'ien, but the reasons F'yr keeps Ru'ien as his friend and in the place deeper still that's marked with his name has nothing to do with the chirpy cheer that he can offer so readily and everything to do with what Fear sees when he looks back at Ruin. Hold on tight, Ruin. He didn't smother you with a pillow, but he's probably about to steal your breath a little. "I know you do," is soft, forehead to forehead, blue eyes meeting blue. The words are so simple. "You're just noticing now." What he sees. But Fear? Fear has always seen Ruin, even when Ruin thinks his masks so well-contrived to hide him. Fear has just never said anything… because would Ruin really have wanted to know what he looked like to the man whose heartaches are held in silences? It's there in his face, to be seen, to be realized, but even now he doesn't force this knowledge on his friend. There's room here, if the man with the paper mache walls and defenses as transparent to F'yr as chicken wire wants to speak, wants to share, but there's no expectation (never any expectations beyond the simple, the basic, that he is Ru'ien, and that's constantly evolving entity is who he'll always be) to do so.

And for that, Ru’ien is forever grateful of F’yr for not placing that burden on him — the pressure to change himself, to be different, in order to address the depth of emotions he may be facing; whether those be his own demons or what deep feelings and emotions are shared between them. They are certainly stripped, or at the very least, he is feeling it — that rawness, along the edges of his awareness, that up until then had been ‘ignored’. Hold on tight? You bet he will, so as not to be swept away in the undertow. He can feel the fluttering of nerves, a cool brush against the back of his neck as goosebumps prickle across skin, but he pays it no mind — no, his eyes focus on F’yr, wider and less guarded. Jokes on F’yr, his breath is already stolen! Can he not hear how it hitches, a little? “Mhm,” It releases on a low exhale of near relief for the soft reply from the bronzerider. “I guess I’m more the fool for not noticing that earlier.” Bemused, for a half-beat, in acknowledging what he saw. Would he have addressed it, then? Likely not, if the scenario hadn’t been right for it. Therein may lie a small facet of the answer as to why Ru’ien is so drawn to F’yr, and the bond between them expanded as it did — F’yr saw him, saw through him, but stuck by his side regardless. Others have seen and the endings, as varied as everything can be in the world, were not all in favour. No, Ru’ien might not be ready yet to face that mirror, of how he looked to F’yr — soon, perhaps, and one day for certain, but not now. What he may have glimpsed could have been enough! Silence blankets them for a span of time, unbroken and unhurried, even as his brows lightly draw together in thought. What is there to share, that F’yr hasn’t already SEEN or what has been understood between them? “Do any of us know what we’re doing?” he whispers at last with a shaky breath of laughter and a light smirk. It’s some of his humor returning, in the wake of choosing not to share further because what is there left to say? How to even say it? There is no band-aid solution of words. This isn’t something to be ‘fixed’, but acknowledged and validated — and Ru’ien feels he has, to this point. With another press of his forehead to F’yr’s, the firm touch of his hand over the bronzerider’s heart, he leans in just-so. “But,” he whispers gruffly, eyes drifting closed from the proximity and not desiring to go cross-eyed in an effort to keep his gaze steady, as he repeats. “I see you, Fear.” All of him now and then parts of him, reflected in himself, and it is this that has left him rattled. “And you see me.” And for now, that is the world to (and according to) Ru’ien, the safety in which exists in this space between them. He tries to invoke as much in his voice, in that simple touch and connection. This moment, where despite being shaken emotionally, he is not withdrawing by deflection but seeking — and that is monumental. Lifting his head, only so far as to allow himself to open his eyes and focus on F’yr, Ru’ien looks down at him. Down, with a hint of a smile but not for lack of it — more because in the absence of his usual expressions, this one is raw, with no filter and no masks. It shows more in his features and the brightness (too bright) in his eyes; the depth of the emotions, without their labels, between them and for him. Most importantly? The trust, which for a man like him, is the foundation of all. Ru’ien sees him and he loves him, in his, and their own, way — whatever they may be, without definition.

Not that F'yr's blue eyes aren't already soft in the afterglow of all that's come before, and in the wake of these naked moments, but the look in them grows more tender still, his lips touching into a smile made just for Ruin. "You noticed." This assurance comes with a light rub of one of Fear's hands along his partner's arms. "Of course you noticed," Ru'ien in F'yr's view is an observant fellow, "You just didn't notice." It's different. He took it in, of course he did, but he didn't stop to look at it because it wasn't important before now. "You play the fool much more often than you ever are one." That comes with the sweep of fingers along Ru'ien's cheek. Silence can blanket them, but only of Ru'ien's let F'yr's lips join his for an unhurried expression of this new depth, of the small amount of acknowledgment that these dimensions can be given in these moments. They don't have to speak more about it, though. The support the greenrider can count on from the bronzer is expressed better in action and silence than it ever could have been in words. The next words come and go in the ebb and flow of caresses along Ru'ien's skin, F'yr's fingers trailing nonsense patterns on his flesh. There's a rumble of sound in the blonde's chest that acknowledges the question, left to become rhetorical otherwise, but when Ru'ien's forehead comes to rest against F'yr's, one hand comes to cover the greenrider's on his heart and he gazes steadily back. There are many things that shake F'yr to his core with fear, with uncertainty, but this… this is not one of them, this intimacy is simply another natural step forward for F'yr in his very strange path that now, here, is walked together with Ru'ien. Ru'ien might not need a rock in this, but nevertheless F'yr is steady. Rather than despoil the moment of the greenrider's vocal acknowledgement with a joke ('I know, Ruin, I just said that,') or something else less sacred, less respectful to the moment than it deserves, he simply tips his chin a little to confirm the man's words, to perhaps also indicate the shared acknowledge of that foundation of trust. He'll seek again to seal this topic with a soft kiss that leads from one, to another, to another, slowly leading from deep feeling toward something slowly heating the blood and boosting the brain toward less thought for the deeper details that are always there beneath the surface. It's probably what brings the topic back around to more immediate, more physical conditions. Almost as an afterthought, and yet not, just the right moment to comment on it, the bronzerider clears his throat when the kiss breaks and murmurs, "You know I don't want you in any way you don't want to be had," It's important to Fear that Ruin hear that from him, even if the color in his cheeks flares a little as he admits, "even if the idea of you in— well, any position is hot."

“And you would know I’ve my reasons for playing that act,” Ru’ien quips in a voice that is at odds with the mischievous tilt of his smirk, the tone soft and gentled around the edges; something that echoes in the depths of his eyes. It’s no joke, but rather a tip and nod, that he trusts F’yr and believes that the bronzerider understands, without the need to pressure him into explaining himself — at least not immediately here and now. He leaves it at that, as they’ve just so recently reaffirmed it all between themselves. ALL of this is deeply important, even to a man such as himself, but as has already been pointed out — Ru’ien is selective on the when and wheres. For this reason, he is content and willing to allow lips to join in unhurried expressions of this new depth surrounding them, to allow emotions to flow through actions more telling, more honest, than any words ever spoken. He will take all that F’yr has to give, in that unspoken communication and return it in spades, through caresses, through touch or merely the response to the same placed upon his frame. Ru’ien does not openly admit it and may not, even if addressed, but he does NEED this; he needs that steadiness that F’yr is offering. It’s that constant, to keep him anchored, as they navigate forwards on this strange path — one that is THEIRS and theirs alone but cherished for what is is now, even if in a flux of change. So he is willing to go down that endless well of kisses, from soft to something far more deep, a gradual shift that is as unhurried as everything else. He follows the rhythm between them, rolling with the subtle change of one thread to the other. Oh, that color to F’yr’s cheeks does it and Ru’ien’s grin is tangible, his humor bleeding through in an amused note to his voice. He doesn’t even bat an eye! “Flatterer,” he teases but, oh, if he isn’t squirming a little on the inside (in a good way)! “I know,” he answers honestly, sobering in that breath, because this IS important — for both of them. For a moment, a pause, silence encroaching but broken on his quiet inhale. “I want this,” he breathes, unfaltering. Genuinely. Not speaking from the physical needs now rekindled, but from the heart. “I want you, Fear. So you can have all of me,” Permission, no hold barred. Another slow burning smile that turns to a grin that edges on playful. “In as many ways as you desire.” Playfulness aside, his eyes once more convey a more in-depth message — this being that, despite his teasing and jokes, what happens (or doesn’t) here between them is more than just some ‘fling’ or flight-fuelled lust. His gaze holds to his, even as his weight shifts and Ru’ien moves to hover his body over the bronzerider’s — not yet pinning him, but indicating the growing desire to do so, as he leans in to claim yet another lingering kiss. Upon it breaking, a low murmured, near whispered: “Do you want this? From me?” Confirmation is important, not so much for reassurance but also to offer that chance for F’yr to choose, without pressure, despite what may have been jokingly bantered previously about ‘what was owed’.

"Uh huh," is a sound lost to the depths and shadows of the soul, so soft and rich the syllables of affirmation. It's a ready reassurance the greenrider probably has no need of, but it's simply the next step on this path that their feet seem to know even if they've never walked it before. Nothing more need be said. That kiss is give and take of everything else that's needed or wanted in this moment. "Not," however needs to be protested. F'yr is many things but a ''flatterer'' is not one, unless you happen to be holding a freshly baked bubbly or something. Ru'ien has seen him in the kitchen. Even there, it's not the bronzerider's ''way'' to slather on empty compliments (maybe ''exaggerate'' real ones, but not invent them from nothing). Briefly he can grin through his embarrassment though, because he is very good at being amused with himself (it's a survival skill, really). It fades though, for the serious moment, his eyes studying Ru'ien's. "I'd be surprised if you didn't, given everything that's come before." F'yr murmurs, his hands moving to find a swath of skin to smooth over with his palms. "And I think you know that I do, too, but if you need to hear it aloud…" There's a teasing moment where he might take this precious moment and tip it into light, into humor, but he doesn't. Instead, he makes that very intense eye contact. "Of course I want this. Want you." One hand moves to brush fingers across Ru'ien's cheek, and there's a hesitation. "But I think you ought to know that I don't really see this the same way as you." F'yr makes a gesture between them, before realizing that's still entirely vague (and worrisome, you big dumb lout), and moves his hand to pull Ru'ien more properly atop him, spreading his legs enough that the greenrider can get comfortable there. "I think it's giving both ways, really, not giving and taking." Of course, F'yr-the-Giving-Tree would think of it this way. "You're giving trust or giving care. If you're the one more vulnerable, you're giving trust, if you're not, then you're giving care to the one that is." His brow furrows briefly as he adds, "Might be different if it's just sex, but that's… not really my thing. I mean, there's hot, rough sex that feels good but what's the point without knowing the person." There's a very slight movement of his shoulders that might be a shrug. But now that Ru'ien's where he is, the philosophical interest is giving way to an interest of another kind. For all the connection, for all the willingness, there's still a touch of nerves as he looks up at the greenrider. "Do you know how you want me?" A beat, "After we've cleaned up a little?" They should get to that, have some water, all the taught items from flights lecture, but the bronzerider doesn't move yet. Why would he want to, even if his mouth has gone dry?

There are times when Ru’ien would go for some reassurances, but that one moment is not one of them — however neither is it spurned and accepted instead. F’yr’s protest brings the return of one of his classic fox-like grins, knowing full well what the bronzerider is not, but he won’t take back the tease. He remembers those days in the kitchens, happy as he was to be the ‘partner in crime’ or the more silver-tongued of their duo. Briefly, there is a flicker of a more subdued smile for the mention of being ‘surprised’ — bemusement that fades into a more genuine touch, as they dance between humor and seriousness at just the right balance. “Just this once,” he breathes, wanting to hear it out loud. Indulge him this time! He exhales upon the confirmation, difficult to parse as relief alone but the words do have an effect on him. Tilting his head into the touch to his cheek, eyes drift closed for a moment, only to open a small fraction a beat later and no less focused as his gaze turns to F’yr. The gesture does not trouble him, not when he’s being pulled atop the bronzerider. Moving, adjusting, with the confidence of experience to settle in a way benefitting both their comfort and enjoyment. As much as he’d love to make a quip of his own in that moment, he holds his tongue once more in favour of what is more important. “Mhm, you have a very good point.” he muses, brows furrowing in a heartbeat of thought. Noted! “I’d… never quite looked at it that way — trust and care.” But he approves! Oh, does he approve. There’s a small dip of his head, a quiet chuckle. “It’s not my thing either, the whole… just sex. Rough or not, I need that spark, emotionally.” Despite what his joking around might imply, Ru’ien does not casually bed partners left and right. He’s a terrible flirt and perhaps treaded close to lines crossed before — but largely, they amounted to nothing. Now, to be asked how he desires F’yr? Another grin blooms.

“Oh, I’ve a few thoughts… This would be perfect, for one.” Ru’ien hints cryptically, not to be cruel but to tease, unhurried, while also shamelessly curving his body just-so into his. Has he caught on to those nerves from F’yr? Perhaps — but more likely he feels no need to rush forwards. He does go a little further, making a low throated sound half way between a laugh and playful disagreement. “Do we have to move? I’m kind of liking where I am, right now…” Full circle now, he gets to unleash a smaller quip to what he withheld earlier and ends it by leaning forwards to nuzzle fondly, trailing a few lingering kisses along curve jaw and neck. With another tilt of his head, he will murmur huskily, his gaze darting past them both. “… I know there’s a water pitcher and basin in here.” Yes, they should clean up. Ignore the heat in Ru’ien’s gaze, as it returns to look down at F’yr, and all the unfiltered emotions beyond just desire surfacing now with no mask. Just ignore that completely.

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