Cuddle Comfort

On the night of the Council Room explosion… ADORABLE PANDAS SEEK COMFORT. Disclaimer for LOTS OF FLUFF. ALSO KISSES.

In the face of crisis, there's no idle time. There is, occasionally, a moment to breathe, but it's rare. These moments get wedged between completing the last most important task and running to meet the need so of the next (already late to start). Sometimes the moments are stolen and other times forced by sheer exhaustion. If one is very lucky, as F'yr has been, these moments have included a few with his people. Some of the ones he can't live without. The ones that were nearly lost today.

K'vir may have been in the rescue team and may only be becoming more important in F'yr's bizarre hierarchy of emotional attachments, but one moment was taken to snag his wrist, to silently communicate a need for a moment - a check that it was an okay moment, that there wasn't a figurative (or literal fire) that needed him for those few heartbeats. And then there was a step into a place out of the way, but by no means really private and there was a hug. A real hug, a meaningful hug, a supportive hug that spoke everything there weren't time or words for in the moment because they were both needed back to the grind at their various tasks… until eventually some smol stompy force of nature who needs to stay mad to keep going, revoked their working privileges for the night.

The Quasar bronzerider is waiting by the entrance to the caverns, freshly bathed (because he certainly needed it), a trio of carry sacks by his foot as he leans on the wall, his own bag quietly reclaimed from his office even after the healers warned him not to go back to where he'd "breathe more of that shit in." His coughs have largely subsided but every now and again, he has to cover one while he waits. His eyes hook on K'vir as soon as he's spotted and a gesture makes plain that that's just who F'yr has been waiting for on this hectic, exhausted occasion.

Moments of crisis aren't unfamiliar to K'vir — one doesn’t spend Turns under S&R centred Wings without seeing their fair share. It is almost instinct to slip into the mental and emotional state necessary of him. This crisis though — this one took a different note, one not so familiar, and that effect is jarring. K’vir can feel cracks in the ‘armour’ he needs to do what it is he needs to do; and it’s not a pleasant feeling. Torn between duty and concern of family and not given much time to parse or absorb either side.

When F’yr first finds him, K’vir is far removed and in his own head. He is hyper focused on his role as Wingsecond and all that has been asked of him. Don’t stop, beyond what is necessary to assess and move from one task to the next. It’s tiring, it is exhausting, but at the touch and snag to his wrist, he affords just enough of his focus and mental capacity to recognize the young bronzerider. He will follow, a protest almost voiced but then lost to a grunt when the hug is given. It doesn’t matter if it is brief or long, but the message is clear and beneath it all and most important? Needed. K’vir did not realize it, but as they part ways, he feels he can breathe just a little easier.

It’s no surprise either that K’vir pushes and pushes, until said smol force of nature catches him too. Younger Turns would see him fight back like the stupid bronzerider he is but in these wiser (arguably) Turns he will complain but relent. He doesn’t protest against the Healers either, though there is nothing amiss with him beyond the same instructions F’yr received. He is cleaned up, though his clothes still bear evidence of the day’s momentous event. Fresh clothes is probably somewhere on the low rung of immediate priority. On his way out, less he incur the wrath of the Smol One for dragging his ass any more than he has, his gaze will catch that gesture. His frown says it all: what’re you doing waiting here? Yet — K’vir will join him, though exhaustion is beginning to weigh his shoulders down.

So this is awkward. F'yr's trying hard not to be, as K'vir nears enough for private speech. "I know you probably need to be with your family," a beat as he reconsiders even the idea of expressing the next words. It's probably only that he knows the state of crisis well enough to know that someone will be supplementing K'vir on parenting duty tonight because the man needs his sleep that leads him to the next question, "After you've seen them, will you come to my place?" Blue eyes are serious as they regard the older man, but not demanding.

"I— we both need food and sleep. And she's not going to stop." They both know this much. They probably also both know from individual experiences that included something LESS THAN RAINBOWS that they have to, or Leirith will TATTLE on them. "I don't want to be alone tonight. Just to sleep. Will you come?" It's a lot to ask and yet, maybe he's thinking of K'vir too. To not be alone in his bed without Risali. To get the kind of rest that can come from sharing a space with someone important.

Awkward and adorable cannot be helped, sometimes. K’vir’s expression hardens a little, as ‘family’ right now is a complicated subject. WHICH FAMILY, F’yr? Yet in the next span of seconds, the edges to his tension ease and he realizes he is unfairly projecting on the younger bronzerider. “I don’t see the harm in it.” he admits, after a likely uncomfortable pause of silence necessary for him to slowly process his decision. It’s been a long day, okay?

Brows furrow and his lips press to a firm line under the valid points F’yr offers. Oh, K’vir is not entertaining an ideas on how to sneak past certain ‘orders’. HE KNOWS BETTER (even if he’s grouchy about it)! Then he says something that resonates and so much so that K’vir stalls a bit. The look he gives F’yr too! Warring between ‘did he hear him right’ and ’I understand too well’. “Yeah.” It comes surprisingly quick, that answer! “I will.” And it sounds like a promise. K’vir might not have grasped the whole gesture but enough to solidify his decision.

As if to seal this ‘arrangement’, K’vir will attempt to clasp his hand to F’yr’s shoulder, either as one firm grip or two quick pats. He has to go, unable to linger too long at this point, for a variety of reasons. Namely, yes — he has family to attend too. He needs a brief moment to collect himself, to change clothes, to breathe just a bit on his own. Ground. Just enough but not enough and perhaps he will be grateful all the more for this offer.

K'vir can grasp his shoulder, pat it, whatever; it's appreciated but that's not all that's needed. F'yr's hand is quick in coming up to cup K'vir's cheek. It's not even one of those sexy romantic gestures you read about in books because it's followed by the achingly familiar press of forehead to forehead, relief and exhaustion warring for dominance on the younger man's face. "Okay," he breathes. "Just come when you're ready. You remember the way?" Does he? It has been a long, long day. "I have food," he indicates the sacks at his foot which upon releasing the older bronzerider he leans down to collect. But then he'll leave it, heading off on his own toward that home.

When K'vir eventually arrives, there's food laid out on the kitchen island and F'yr is there, working his way steadily through some of it. There's a call of, "It's open," which should be obvious since some people's children are inclined to invade Uncle F'yr's place when he's not home, but the signal light on his porch has been set to DO NOT DISTURB red, for the rare occasion that it is. He twists in his chair to take in K'vir, blue eyes going down the length of the familiar face, the increasingly dear person to whom the then-traced frame belongs. "Come eat," could be a quote from F'yr's mum, really.

K’vir doesn’t take the cup of his cheek as a romantic indicator. Even if it's meant to be, his mind is not on the right track to even make that jump. The gesture that follows, though? Registers. His eyes close, but even that does not linger long. “I remember.” he murmurs back. It has been a very long day but he has confidence in his memory. There’s a very vague smile, tense despite the efforts not to be, for the mention of food. Then they are moving away and K’vir does not push further for now; it’s necessary, as he’s in no mental state quite yet to handle much more.

It turns out that K’vir was a touch too confident in his memory or maybe the day events have messed with it. He’ll arrive in due time, but without admitting that he’d got turned around slightly. He is polite enough to knock, but at F’yr’s call, he won’t hesitate in crossing the threshold. Did he notice the red light? Probably. He has changed into more casual, comfortable clothing and while there is still a degree of tension to him, K’vir’s expression is no longer as withdrawn. The quote could be from anyone’s mum, but the offer isn’t spurned. He’ll give F’yr a lingering look as he approaches the table, no doubt making his own assessments before taking a seat. It’s across from F’yr but not out of trying to distance, but more of necessity. They’re to eat first, then… well, the bronzerider is taking it one step at a time. Any more and he’ll shut down. “Looks good.” he comments on the spread, already helping himself to some of it with ease of familiarity. Is he overly hungry? Not really. But he will eat, until he cannot. It will likely be a short meal, at this rate.

"We can thank the cooks tomorrow," F'yr gives credit where credit is due, finishing his last bites as he does. "I think they're like my Aunt Tildy. Something big goes wrong and they don't know a better way to help, so they just cook and cook and cook. I remember when I was small and our far barn burnt down after a lightning strike, Aunt Tildy ended up with so many berry preserves that I got sent to the neighboring farms on my runner the next day to make trades."

It's a story. Not a nothing story, not exactly, because surely that night is burnt into F'yr's memory, for reasons, but it's as distraction from immediate without forcing the brain entirely away from the things it's doubtlessly circling. As he tells it, the resident bronzerider is rising to start putting away the food that hasn't been claimed - that is the next foot in front of the other because they may wake and want to eat more without making a trip back to the caverns. It's all items that would be safe to leave out, for at least as long as they'd sleep, but it proves there's an icebox in this kitchen and so that's where he stows most of the things that would be questionable.

F'yr is not going to bother K'vir while he eats. That's important. He's just going to be there, nearby, working through the trappings of the everyday life at his homestead. The dishes will probably be left for a later time when dishes become the next foot, but that's not now.

“You can ride?” K’vir focuses on that thread of the story shared and while it may be unusual to pick up on that part of all, it stands out for him. Enough that he can spare the mental effort to tip the conversation into continuing just that little further. Could be he senses some level importance to such a memory, but he cannot delve too far in the state he’s in. A story is a story but this one is welcomed for what it offers.

He will be slow in finishing eating, but as F’yr has busied himself with tidying up, he will quietly lend his help with the last bit to be done; even if that’s just cleaning up after himself. Perhaps more conversation could have started here, but K’vir lapses all too easily into a heavy silence. It’s nothing F’yr does or can help, in that moment, but just another necessary thing. Pushed too much, K’vir fights back unless the time and patience is given. He must trust F’yr insofar that he isn’t as tense as he might’ve been. So when it’s evident that next foot is now leading away, he will turn his focus squarely on the young bronzerider. K’vir doesn’t say it, but there’s a visible gestured tilt of his head. Is F’yr ready? Because he is (as much as he can be). This is F’yr’s space though and so K’vir gives him the choice of preference of where to go. Even if they’d discussed sleep, adorably naturally he does not presume that means his bed.

F'yr's nodding head confirms the fact. "Part of the skill set for the kind of farming we did. With as many people as we had, it's a fairly large operation, really. Not a minor holding by any stretch, but a productive in the Weyr's purview." He won't go through the structure of that now. "Easiest to keep track of the bovine on runnerback." You heard it here first, folks, yes, F'yr was a bit of a cowboy. He did once explain to Risali that he had a lot of knowledge and life experience… just none particularly applicable to anything he's dealt with since coming to the Weyr. It's fine.

"I was going to ask if you still did, when you were telling me about things the last time. It was always more work than fun for me, but I think that's probably changed now and I'd probably enjoy it, if I had someone to go with." But really no pressure, K'vir, he's just thinking aloud, rambling a little while he does things. Those are really, really things for another day, but it adds the natural warmth of F'yr's voice to the cozy room. That has to help balm some of the stress of the day. At least until there's silence, but there's room allowed for that. Maybe, even, the younger man needs that weighty quiet, too, for the scattered seeds of thought and feeling to settle and start to germinate toward something that might find a voice or at least peace, eventually.

When that silent gesture is made, F'yr's chin tilts in an answering not-quite-nod, but more than that he wipes his hand on a towel and replaces it before padding, barefoot, over to the older man and slipping his fingers through one hand if K'vir is on his feet by then. With that joined hand, F'yr will lead his companion up the straight stairs and then up the curving stairs that lead to his tower bedroom. Perhaps K'vir should have presumed that F'yr meant his bed because that's where he's heading, slipping his hand free of K'vir's in the dimness and treading the familiar path to the side of his bed where he can flip the switches for the lights on the ceiling over the bed.

Normally, F'yr might be counted on to verbally check in about things, but it's probably the best of signs that it doesn't even seem to occur to him that this might be a check in moment, that's how casually unexceptionable it is for him to be climbing into bed just to sleep beside someone else, just to share the space that has everything and nothing to do with physical intimacy. He just crawls onto the low-ish bed its purple sheets (no blankets needed in summer, TYVM) and makes room for K'vir, not even really looking over to the older man unless/until he joins him (or speaks from outside the bed; whichever comes first, really).

K’vir doesn’t dissect the conversation further, on what kind of farming there is where riding may not be a thing. Yet he absorbs all that is shared, tucking it away and alongside the little mental ‘note’ created as he replies: “Not really as much anymore.” No time, not for a man like him and with the responsibilities he holds. Following the natural lapse of conversation, his brows furrow as a thought surfaces to be also noted and filed away. “Same.” One word, a touch blunt but lacking dismissive tones; he is merely acknowledging as much as he can, for now. One thing at a time and while this is important enough to pin down, it can be touched upon later.

Once one his feet, K’vir will take that offered hand into a firm hold. There may even be a small squeeze on the approach fo the stairs: mutual reassurance and a hint that he is okay with this. He will slow with his steps once they enter his bedroom, letting hands slip apart naturally. That F’yr is displaying, to a degree, a level of comfort even now, keeps the older bronzerider from freezing up. Arguably, this is no different on the surface than what is normal for him. The only factor that is ‘changed’ here, is that it is with F’yr — and they have had moments together already that broach lines far different than sharing this space.

So he will settle on the edge of the bed to start, because K’vir needs that step. His approach with much in his life is slow and while that used to be source of frustration and anger, it’s not so much the case now. Only when he feels settled of mind and thoughts, does he turn and slip further onto the bed and those sheets. It’s not an immediate CUDDLE FEST, but he isn’t lurking on his side either. He starts by resting close, but reaching for one of F’yr’s hands in the interim — one step. And as a gesture of ‘faith’? K’vir breaks the silence, once they have settled, with a low spoken: “… you holding up okay?” It offers no pressure. K’vir would be happy with a grunt of reply, if that is all F’yr can spare. IF he is ready to talk, though? That was K’vir’s ‘olive branch’ for the younger bronzerider.


The younger bronzerider makes no move to rush the older, nor does he immediately glomp him upon his entry to the bed. He's content to accept that hand, to return the touch and then in a few moments shift enough that the length of their forearms are also touching, but not more. It's an open invitation for additional closeness, but at the rate at which it's comfortable. Both being still fully clothed for anyone with popcorn and wild imaginations minus boots scandalous, there's a very real sense that this is not about what some people assume about people touching in a bed is sometimes about.

The low spoken words are momentarily met by silence, but not a stonewall, just a few moments to work through what the real answer is. When he speaks, it's quiet enough to imply this is for the sanctuary of the space and the invisible sanctuary of the space created between the two of them, figuratively speaking. "It's not time to fall apart yet, so I'm holding together." A beat. A breath (slightly ragged, but he keeps it under control), "I've never had so many people I care about threatened all in the same moment." His voice cracks a little as he adds, "I'm so grateful-" and can't finish. That no one was hurt. That he didn't lose any of them, this time.

F'yr shifts nearer, looking maybe like he'd like to invite himself to that full-body comfort of touch, but not crossing what might still be invisible lines. "What about you?" It probably says something about F'yr's intuition that he doesn't make that a pointed question about any of K'vir's various dads. … or the nearby other people that he cares about who are almost all on that overlapping list with F'yr's.

No protest comes for that shift that brings forearms to touching and further drifts them closer. K’vir doesn’t take up the open invitation — not yet. His gaze will no doubt be turned towards the ceiling and those stars that so captivated him on his last visit that did not involve the bed. They remain so, even as F’yr begins to speak and the weight of those words and the way he cannot finish does not go unnoticed. Still, he keeps his tongue held and allows the young bronzerider to finish without interruption.

K’vir may not be immediately speaking up, but his grip on F’yr’s hand at the crack of his voice, the slightly ragged breath, shifts. He’ll adjust the grip of his hand, tighter, firm and lacing fingers together. There is a press of his forearm to his, a subtle lean, even if done subconsciously. What about him? That question is going to be dismissed for now — small steps, one thing at a time. None of those pointed questions were asked, but K’vir’s mind goes there regardless. Why? Because he can relate to what he is now gradually assuming is impacting F’yr the most. So he addresses that first, with a quiet, steady spoken. “Crisis situations can have that effect, even when those involved are not your own — and tends to double it when they are. You’ve… Is this the first time you’ve ever responded to an emergency?”

He’s not trying to deviate from the importance of the topic at hand, but his gentle inquiry will help him better understand just how deep this is hitting F’yr. K’vir is seasoned to this and while it doesn’t change his overall understanding, it will impact his reaction.

"No." F'yr's word is quiet, singular and without explanation… but his hand convulsively flinches in within K'vir's grasp. "First explosion." He adds distracts. His eyes stay on the ceiling, but his face is set in a way that is suggestive of one of those sensitive topics and, this time, he doesn't venture into it.

Immediately, K’vir’s grip tightens at the flinch; not vice like but as a reminder that he’s there. “It’s alright.” he blurts out, though the words remain so quiet to almost be under his breath. Stating the obvious too, but some part of him must have felt it necessary for that moment to remind F’yr that there is no pressure here. He need not explain but there is safety here and comfort. The distraction addition is met with a small nod. Fair enough! “It’s… incredibly hard, regardless. Sometimes you don’t even catch it, right away, how hard it hit you. How deep it cut.” He tapers back into silence then, less he slowly continues on into a ramble that tangents too far into nothing of importance. He does, however, turn his head slightly to glance sidelong to F’yr. “Sometimes,” he murmurs softly. “It’s better to just… let go.” Is he inviting the young bronzerider to let those emotions free? Yep, you better believe it. Only it’s in true K’vir fashion: not apparently clear.

There's silence from the younger bronzerider and then he shifts onto his side, a sad sort of smile on his lips. "This is where Risa would be asking to dance." Because it's a moment that needs distraction. Because F'yr can't. He can't let go. It's not K'vir, it's F'yr, but they're both exhausted and probably neither one of them wants to get up and move if it can be helped, so the blonde goes for the obvious distraction. PUT THAT POPCORN DOWN. He gets up enough to move closer, thrusting an entirely different distraction into their midst: proximity. He's settling, unless K'vir objects, along the older man's side, his head tucked on his shoulder, even if the taller man is too tall to tuck in the way SMOL STOMPY ONES can do. And this time, the reason he asks is because welcome to the new current conversation (not that they can't loop back but), "Is this okay?"

“Yeah,” K’vir admits with a small (and yes, sad) smile as well. “She would.” He doesn’t seem inclined to move either from the bed. Just as much as he doesn’t feel it necessary to push the young bronzerider further. If he can’t let go yet? That’s fine. He came here with no expectations to what the night would hold (hush peanut gallery) and he isn’t about to assume anything of the younger man even now. So when F’yr moves, K’vir will keep his gaze on him, shifting only as necessary to accommodate their new (shared!) position. Oh, it’s certainly no SMOL goldrider but… he does not mind. “If it’s what you need right now?” he answers honestly, softly. “Then yes. It’s okay.” It might take him a beat or two (or four) but he’ll add, quieter. “I need it too.” Which explains why he will move into F’yr’s frame, tucking his head close to his where it rests by his shoulder. He will even slip an arm around the younger bronzerider and not just solely for reasons of comfort.

In the moment before K'vir's admission comes, F'yr's seeking closeness may have only been a want, a wish, an "in an ideal world" choice; once the words are out, though, it is a need, because it's fulfilling the need of the person he's with in a way that mutually satisfies his own. That's his sweet spot and maybe that's why he sighs something akin to both pleasure and relief that this is alright and more than alright. In this way, he might have a leg up on the older man who does not sleep with men (cough), because it's very natural for F'yr to shift a little and gently settle even closer to K'vir in a way that has one knee coming up to drape his legs, not confiningly but with a possibly comforting weight.

"I need this," he murmurs, into the space between K'vir's chin and shoulder, his breath touching the man's hair, the man's neck. "Thank you. For coming here." He stops short of apologies, stops short of listing out all the other demands on K'vir's time. It's something he has to stop himself from doing with several of the VERY BUSY people he cares about. Then he lapses into comfortable silence, one arm moving after a moment to curl across K'vir's middle, fingertips brushing idly against the side of ribs where they come to rest, but with enough pressure not to accidentally tickle.

Hey, listen… K’vir was trying to make a point he does not just sleep with any men in general! F’yr is probably gradually going from the ‘general’ list to something else; given that the older bronzerider doesn’t seem to mind the added shift and drape of legs.

“Of course,” he murmurs again, in that quiet way of his, while he wills some of the tension to leech out of his body. Won’t take much effort, now that they’ve settled this way. “I know… how it goes. Not wanting to be alone.” Which begs the question, doesn’t it? What past scenario(s) have led the older bronzerider to have that understanding? Or will the present work just as well? There’s a heavy sigh and… yes, he is leaning more into F’yr, head pressed close to his (but it’s no forehead to forehead gesture yet). “I’m — glad neither of us have to be, tonight.”

It does beg the question (and so many more questions - K'vir didn't think F'yr would have just one, did he?), and yet, the younger bronzerider doesn't ask. He doesn't even though there's a slight press of lips together. What he does do is tip his head a little to brush a there-and-gone tiny touch of supportive affection that has nothing to do with being in bed together and everything to do with silently returning those feelings that F'yr is sharing: glad not to be alone, probably still the gratitude already expressed.

The question he does end up asking in the next breath is, "Do you think you can sleep now? We ought to try." This is not news. "We can talk in the morning, more." If they can sleep. "Or now, if you don't think you can." Of course, this doesn't say anything about whether or not F'yr thinks he can sleep yet, although he does look tired (surely they both must and they both must know how little that really counts for whether or not a person can sleep at a given opportune moment).

K'vir does not return that tiny touch of supportive affection, but he does subtly lean into it, appreciative. Clearly, that amount is alright by his standards (and honestly, more would be too but it's a start). The question that does end up being voiced is one that almost has the older bronzerider chuckling — it starts, then ends in a rumbling, heavy sigh. Nice try, F'yr! Do you think he was just born yesterday? Yet he doesn't accuse or point fingers, though from the way he frowns and the light smirk, he seems to be drawing conclusions on just how much "sleep" either of them will get. "Are you sure?" he asks instead, on the offer to sleep. It's an awkward approach, sure, but K'vir is not the best with words or emotions wrapped into them until he catches his stride — and right now his mind is too fractured still for him to expend the energy to weave it all back together. Maybe sleep IS necessary first! But…

There's a shift in his weight, as he settles in more comfortably into the bed and — yes, he pulls F'yr along with him. K'vir then exhales slowly, moving until at last they can touch forehead to forehead. The arm that was looped around the younger bronzerider moves, only so his hand can pass idly in comforting strokes along his back. It's probably a habit… or maybe it's a subconscious need on K'vir's part. Eyes close, but it's not sleep that he's turning to. Instead, after a beat or so of silence, he speaks quietly again. "You should know something…" Confession time! Which is apparently a Big Deal for him, given the hesitation that follows. "I don't — usually sleep well after things like this. I try because… I don't want to worry her." Or deal with SMOL WORRIED-ANGRY WRATH. "Usually ends up not working." Insomnia, in other words. "Or…" K'vir grimaces now, as if this is the MOST SHAMEFUL THING OF ALL. "Nightmares. Bad ones."

This is one of those moments when it's good that it's F'yr and not some other person (not smol and stompy person, but just any ol' person), resettling with K'vir as the older man becomes more comfortable, his face readily moving to that comfortable proximity of so close that once might not have been a good fit, but now is something that causes tension to start to ease through the familiarity of the gesture and what it conveys. "I'm sure that we should sleep." There's a very dry, wry edge to that, but he doesn't pursue it. It doesn't mean he can either.

But it isn't the barest brush of humor that makes it good that it's F'yr here, it's the listening, the patience, the return of those gentle touches that match measure for measure the tone of what's imparted to him through K'vir's hands. "Okay," is soft. It's just that. The word takes K'vir for everything he is and isn't and blankets him in quiet, calm, committed acceptance. Now, F'yr has only one question again as his fingers start to find muscles that are knotted with tension and press lightly into them, for all that he's no trained healer. "What helps?" What can he do? What can they do?

Lest K'vir feel guilty for voicing anything that would keep them awake, the younger man adds, "Glori's on high alert. I'm not eager to try to get to my nightmares right now either." Surprise! He has some too, if likely not as bad as those K'vir's colorful life and time in search and rescue have gifted him with.

Does K’vir catch that barest brush with humor from F’yr? He likely does, but he allows the moment to pass. For some that lone word could rub the wrong way, but it’s satisfactory for the older bronzerider. Really, he is not asking much from the younger bronzerider — not yet. Acceptance will do and quiet any uncertainty there. There is plenty of tense, knotted muscle to find, even if he gives off an air of “relaxed” and settled. He protests nothing and any movement from him will be him subtly guiding F’yr’s touch to different spots. “You haven’t guessed yet?” he replies and there’s a heavy pause, followed by a tilt of his head to peer down at F’yr.

What’s K’vir getting at? There is definitely something unsaid hovering there but it has an almost… amused tilt to it. Like it’s a suggestion to something they haven’t quite reached yet (hush popcorn eating spectator no hints!) and may never quite reach in any near future (but who knows!). When the silence has stretched on enough for even his tastes, he will exhale heavily with the lowest of chuckles. “Drinking, usually. Would grab a beer, sit out on the front porch of our weyr and just…” Zone out. “Drift. It didn’t take it all away but it let me pick up enough pieces.” To function (barely, arguably).

There is a brief look of surprise for mention of Glorioth on high alert, which only seems to draw his arm around the young bronzerider all the closer (hug-squeeze time!). “Maybe…” he begins to suggest, “We can find a way to — expand on the orders given us?” Did he just suggest they IGNORE Risali and find a loophole? Yes. Yes, he did.

"Oh." Did K'vir mean to make the younger man blush so adorably profusely? To be fair, though, this is the first time in F'yr's life when crisis and being sexually active have crossed paths. He's smiling though, and can't seem to stop. It makes him laugh really, after a moment, his own naivety. It's low and short and sweet - a good sound that reminds some people that even in the face of the day they've had and all those fears, there can be small proofs of life still holding some joy and not just concern and worry. "If you're going to bother to call it expanding then you're ahead of every other bronzerider I've seen today." See, IlaRyn are flat out defying orders. Yes, even R'hyn, who's giving them. It's fine.

He lets his hand drift, less massaging than it is now caressing. "I have beer," he allows but then he's tilting his head just a little. "But… I'm here for this." What is this? He might mean anything that's going to help on a night like tonight. Glorioth can be on high alert, protecting (in his head) his eggs, as yet still inside their dam. "What did you have in mind?" That's all but a whisper. It may be, even, that he's mentally prepared for a Risali answer. This is where a smol goldrider would suggest something that's other than any of the obvious ideas before them. F'yr probably won't hold it against K'vir if he doesn't quite match her level of creativity. (Probably at least in part because a lot of Risali's suggestions seem to take a lot of energy. Spoiler alert: none of them have anything to do with sex.)

WHAT SORT OF THOUGHTS CROSSED THAT YOUNG adorable MIND!? K’vir can hazard a guess, if the blushing is any indicator and hey, who said that laughter wasn’t contagious? Even in a short moment, it’s enough to bring a laugh out of him, in turn. oh sweet summer child He’s probably secretly relieved that, naivety aside, F’yr caught on and they didn’t end up with awkward semi-explanations! Not that K’vir wouldn’t have just ended up spluttering and blushing just as much and muttering some excuse to ‘forget it’.

“Yeah?” K’vir doesn’t appear surprised at all. Not in the least! But what Ila and R’hyn do are on them, let them dig their own graves and not an immediate concern of his. He knows better than to even remotely try challenging them. Caresses are on the ok-list tonight, it seems! Even tentatively returned, though still with an idle-edge; he’s not wholly focused (and who can blame him). There’s a low chuckle for the whisper and his head tilts — not for a kiss but more of a tentative line-broaching nuzzle (GASP). It’s an affectionate gesture, tempered by the way he smiles like he has some sort of trick up his sleeve (and no, it’s probably NOT to the levels Risa can conjure!). NO PRESSURE AT ALL, seriously! He cannot hold a candle to the force that is their Smol Goldrider!

“Well… if sleep is out of the question, but we still want closeness…” Is he on track here, so far? K’vir will hesitate a moment, ever thoughtful (is the suspense too much? No?). He tangents off of the last thought, slipping into another. “There were times we’d go dancing — late night. Not your everyday stuff, trust me. This is…” Cover your virgin ears, F’yr! “… something raw, grittier. Boundaries are pushed, but there’s nothing asked of it; it’s just to burn off energy.” In a very not general public manner! Brows furrow and rather than sit up on the bed, he only snuggles down further. “Mhm, but on further thought… we’d have to change. Then hope we’re not caught. Dunno about you but ‘being chased through the Weyr’ isn’t on my list right now.” Dry, dry humor, that.

The nuzzle draws only another small smile from F'yr. It's a welcome affection, a welcome closeness, but not one that's chased for more. The bronzerider appears wholly contented by just what's been given (this time). He listens while the older man speaks his words, the tempting offer. On a day when F'yr had not just almost lost every person he cares about who's still speaking to him, on a day when his dragon wasn't sending sizzling low-grade panic vigilance though his mind for unclutched eggs still safe within Inasyth who's… safe???… within the Weyr, on a day when F'yr wasn't already raw, heartsore, exhausted and feeling it, he might be game. He is so often game for any suggestion that comes his way.

But not tonight. At least, not without question, one question: "There will be other people there?" And in case that's not quite enough information as to why he's asking, "People I'll end up touching? Who'll end up touching me?" One does generally touch when one dances, after all. It's quiet but blue eyes are intent and searching the older man's face. Being chased through the Weyr doesn't sound like it's high on F'yr's list, but neither does it seem that engaging in raw, gritty, kinetically charged and physically contacting dancing sound like it's an immediate draw.

It does not dawn immediately on K'vir, as to why F'yr brings up other people. When it does, there's a gradual flicker of awareness in his gaze, as things slowly, oh-so slowly, click into place. It's not a complete puzzle by far but it's enough for him to grasp at an idea of what the younger bronzerider is getting at. For a brief moment, K'vir looks adorably awkward, a flush rising to his cheeks from sheepishness for a misstep that wasn't really his fault. How was he to know?

"Yeah. There'd be people. Close quarters, usually…" K'vir murmurs low, barely above the level of the breath he exhales as a near sigh. "That was…" Insensitive? "A bad idea to suggest." Now that he has more knowledge in his arsenal but perhaps he is kicking himself for knowing better. Shifting on the bed again, he moves to prop himself up — but it's not a precursor for him getting off the bed. Rather, he is reaching for F'yr, to gather him in the tightest embrace yet. It's not immediate, he is hesitant and fumbling a little to start, but as his arms slip around the younger bronzerider and the rest of their bodies naturally follow for a much closer intimacy (but not THAT kind), he will pause long enough to ask: "… is this alright?" Is this what he needs? Because K'vir IS offering it.

The younger man's lips press together, but his eyes don't leave K'vir's face. "Another day, I'd say yes." The tone is quietly casual, because these words are truth, but the choice of phrasing is very deliberate. "Tonight," he starts but pauses to draw a breath and at least partially release it before he adds more words, flashing a look that's apology (sort of - apology for not being able to say yes, this time), "the only one I want to be touched by is you." It's simple, it's direct, but it isn't asking for more than what K'vir is already doing, and when the older man is shifting and the younger man adjusting in kind there's a nod that can be felt along with a grateful gust of a breath stirring K'vir's hair. "This is good. If it is for you." That's important; F'yr won't take what's not mutually desired if he can avoid it.

There's only silence for some moments, save for whatever the older man replies and then F'yr is shifting a little more. "We could try something else. If you don't mind my touching you." He adds quickly, "Just touching. Not like the time I said I wasn't going to kiss you and then did." He's recriminated himself over that enough that the lesson is firmly internalized now. He's anxious in his tone, just a little, probably to repair that small, violated trust - even if K'vir ended up not minding.

“This is needed,” K’vir answers immediately and without a shred of his earlier hesitation. “And wanted.” The last part takes a beat or two, but it is spoken with a level firmness. He means it and while he would have liked to address that sort of apologetic look F’yr had given him, he lets it go. There is no shame in saying no and he tries to convey as much as they snuggle settle into one another.

Quiet settles, even in the wake of F’yr’s next suggestion and offer. The anxiety in the younger bronzerider’s tone has him pausing, brows furrowing lightly as his thoughts process whether or not he can. He doesn’t wish to say ‘yes’, only to say ‘no’ a second or so in, because his fractured mind decides to tap out. So he takes a moment, even if the lengthening silence might be unnerving to F’yr (he is probably very apologetic for his slow processing). “I don’t mind,” he murmurs at last, making sure his gaze meets the other, to show the sincerity there. “I don’t mind,” he repeats gently. “If it’s you.” So he may have shamelessly ripped F’yr’s expression but K’vir liked it, when he truly reflected on it, and how it made him feel trusted.

In fact, so long as the proof of things being okay is still in their bodies, with this welcome sharing of an intimate (but not sexual) space, F'yr doesn't seem bothered by the wait for an answer. He doesn't even have a breath to blow out when the answer comes because it wasn't held. The younger man's eyes had been closed, opening with that answer, but not moving, not yet. A few moments later F'yr begins to move, to shift, to sit, encouraging K'vir to do the same in the low light cast by the manmade illumination above them.

He doesn't need much in the way of words, but as he gives unspoken guidance to get their positioning adjusted so that F'yr is behind K'vir, thighs on either side of him and F'yr's front near, but not against his back. "Would you be comfortable if we had our shirts off? The fabric gets… distracting, for what I want to do." But he did promise just touching, not something more, so if K'vir can trust in that and gives an affirmative, then F'yr will start taking off his own shirt, because… skin.

K’vir will follow F’yr as he sits up, adjusting to make himself comfortable in the new arrangement. His gaze will follow the younger bronzerider until he is resting behind him and while there is a silent question etched into his features, there is no request to stop. Would he be comfortable? K’vir’s head tilts, drifting slightly to the side and away as he takes his time in absorbing that thought too.

“That’s fine. I’m alright with it,” he admits quietly, at last. He may catch a glimpse of F’yr taking off his shirt, but more from natural response to movement in his peripheral. Otherwise, he does not openly stare but why is he blushing? and soon follows suit in taking his own shirt off. Up it goes, over his head and lightly tossed aside. Shoulders roll a bit, as air hits bare skin, but he is otherwise still — maybe a little too tense but that cannot be immediately helped.

After the shirts are gone, F'yr moves just a little closer, but not enough to place skin on skin… or at least, not more than the work-roughened but frequently oil-softened palms of his hands to K'vir's back. For a few long moments, he just lets his hands sit, the heat of those hands becoming comfortable on the muscles beneath them. Then, after a few moments, he starts to skim them across K'vir's back. Light touches become stronger, designs are drawn in fingertips.

"Close your eyes," is encouraged early on. "Follow my hands." With his mind. Focus on the touch, the stimulation, the way slowly but surely that touch can overwhelm the sympathetic nervous system, make it overwhelmed in a good way and eventually short out for some precious moments of calm. When did F'yr start humming? Who can really say? He's tuneful and then at some point there are words.

Does K'vir catch them all as F'yr's hand maintain his caress, his bid to coax those muscles into relaxation, to let K'vir's mind float and release. His hands don't stop at the front, but go around to K'vir's chest, shifting closer to press the length of his front to the friction heat he's created on the older man's back while his hands do the same on the front and up and down K'vir's arms.

Will K’vir be forgiven for jumping slightly regardless, when F’yr places his hands on his back? He’s wound up and for all that he’s telling himself to relax, it’s easier said than done. Yet once he’s grown accustomed to the feel of his hands, he gradually begins to let the tension seep from his muscles and frame. “Hmm,” he hums in acknowledgement to the request, doing just that and exhaling slowly. Focusing might take longer and the lapses in that show in the occasional subtle twitch or shift; otherwise he is falling back into that focus, giving more and more of that trust.

It will be the humming that does it, the familiarity of song and sound, no matter the skill level. He’ll never be able to place when it sunk in or when he caught on that F’yr had begun. There may be some snippets of lyrics noted, but more importantly is that K’vir sinks into those hands now. Bit by bit, he will relax. His mind calmer, for that moment, but not one he fights against. It’s a welcomed span of mental silence, even his breathing settling to a calm, deep, rhythm.

Good. That's exactly what F'yr was going for. There's no surprise kisses, no violation of the trust that has been given to him, only touch and touch and touch through not just the one song in hum and then lyric, but through a couple more similarly soft, tunes that draw through melodies that seep into the mind.

And when K'vir has finally hit some point of relaxation that seems somehow to be the right amount, the younger man simply slips his arms into a loose grasp around the other man's upper abdomen, his cheek coming to rest on K'vir's shoulder. Maybe that's F'yr's moment to relax in kind because he seems to be matching his breath to K'vir's, maybe willing his heart to sync up to the speed of the other man's heart. There's no pressure here, no expectation for some kind of reciprocal treatment. Only once the older man starts to shift will F'yr release his gentle hold and give him room to do so, watching in comfortable, calm silence.

All of this is all so familiar and yet new in ways, but K’vir doesn’t balk at it as he normally would. F’yr’s humming through more songs, lyrics or no, lull him. There is no pressure, no demand from him to continue or to stop and when he feels the younger bronzerider’s weight shift and those arms come about his upper abdomen, he merely braces to accept the weight. Has it soothed all his wounds? Not exactly, but it’s dulled the edges. Allowed him to suture the worst of the cuts and pull enough of his sense of self back. Just enough.

How long do they sit there, syncing? It doesn’t matter. Let it be seconds, minutes or even hours. K’vir does not rush this. Not until it is necessary and he will shift under F’yr, moving with him as he releases that gentle hold. It’s not by much, he only aims to lean back and settle more comfortably. His eyes open, drifting up in an attempt to glimpse at him, but soon giving up to settle his head back. Silence follows, but there is a gentle warmth there, in his features, beneath the troubled look still lurking — it’s merely not as stark now. There is a low chuckle, a drifting moment of amusement at something (could be that realization that F’yr was singing and all that that entails). His mouth even quirks into a sort of lopsided half-smile. But he puts no further pressure on conversation for now, content to merely… be.

Being is good. Just leaning together like this is good. There's no rush on F'yr's part to move, either, but at some point he does move, shifting his hips back and then getting himself to where he's sitting next to K'vir. His blue eyes seem dark in dimmed lights and he reaches for K'vir's nearest hand to claim it, to curl fingers into it. There's no small study of the older man's face for some moments, seeing him, seeing the trouble that still lurks. "This is where I wish I had a hot spring of my own to go sit in." He muses. "I've thought about seeing if one could be built, diverting the stream. Adding something of my own to this place that was already perfect before I got here." None of that is really important. It's a ramble. It's a distraction from the heat that's creeping into F'yr's cheeks. It's not at all related to what he says next.

"If we want to just… be. That's good. I'm good with that." BUT. "It seems like you're still somewhere else. If that's what you need, that's okay, too. But," and this time that word is actually spoken, "I'd like to kiss you. I'd like to kiss you and make you forget everything outside of this room, for just a little while." There is no press to accept, no weighty expectation in his voice, just… another option. Something that might tap to some of that raw that the dancing might have gotten at. Maybe. Although this sounds tamer than that… maybe?

K’vir with lace his fingers with F’yr’s, the grip firm and sure and he doesn’t balk under that small study by the younger bronzerider. He’ll let him see the troubled state of his thoughts (and it’s no fault of F’yr’s, it’s just not so quick or easy), but there is no expectant gaze in return; he puts no pressure on F’yr to reciprocate, until he is ready. Neutral conversation, even rooted in some light humor, helps and for a moment his eyes reflect some amusement. “Why not? It’d certainly have perks.” It is a ramble, but one he was content enough to remark on. It helps him not focus on the heat creeping into F’yr’s cheeks.

Maybe some part of him knew this was going to come about? When F’yr next speaks, K’vir is quiet and his gaze remains level on the younger bronzerider (which might be slightly unnerving). Is it a tamer option? K’vir might have disagreements about SOME kisses being anything but ‘tame’! Given his track record with just how… not tame at all these scenarios could end up. His lingering quiet will be due to his weighing of actions and consequences and just how much he feels he can manage without the burn of regret — surprisingly, he finds himself no longer as against the idea. Whether it is from the events and the emotions stirred from that or just that basic want and need for expression via physical contact and affection, K’vir isn’t sure. What he is certain on is his particular (and surprising) lack of caring on the details.

Now it’s his turn to flush a little with color, but it’s not all embarrassment leading him to it. He frowns, eyes narrowing thoughtfully, and it’s another of those slow, weighed silent moments, before his features smooth to something relaxed and… a hint of want. His hand slips from F’yr’s, but only to rest now on his arm; smooth, flat, subtly inviting. “If you need this as well, then… yes.” Permission granted. K’vir won’t be the one to initiate, but he is turning to face the young bronzerider, or better yet, follow his lead.

There's a lot of different kinds of trust being exercised here. One is the trust that K'vir knows his own mind. F'yr gives him the time to search it out, and if the answer had been 'no,' other men might have protested, but not F'yr. Seeing as how the answer is what it turns out to be, the younger man shifts, in no hurry, but in a way that shifts their positions, still facing each other, still sitting, but an echo of their positions before. He encourages K'vir's legs apart - and K'vir's can be on the outside or the inside as it pleases the older man once F'yr's intentions become clear, to create a small intimate space between them that doesn't quite get as far as one sitting in the other's lap, but close enough that kissing for as long as they'd like isn't going to create any undue body aches. It even lets them touch or embrace if that becomes a part of the kiss(es) that F'yr will initiate.

This time, there are no half-measures or small measures that resemble half-measures. This time, there's F'yr's lips on K'vir's with an exhaled breath that holds that sweet moment of slow-burn anticipation so often fully set aside in favor of focusing on all the other things that matter more fully, without being distracted by this one, that also matters, but in a different way. The younger man reaches back to pull the tie from the hair that's grown past his chin now, letting that tie get lost on the covers, freeing his body of one more distraction outside of this moment, this contact and the way he and K'vir slowly, sensuously learn the way the other likes to kiss and more than that— how they like to kiss together. It's practically art, but what is art without passion to drive it? So there's that too, for all that it's being asked to be tempered by the limits placed on the now.

There's no rush, even with mortality fresh in the mind. Even that thought can eventually be drowned away, for a little bit, right? If K'vir seems comfortable, F'yr's hands will slide in ways that are subtly but distinctly different than what it was in the moments when K'vir was promised and received only touch; now the touch has a subtle need to it. It's not exactly demand in the way that is asking too much of a person (at least, not intentionally), but rather demand in the sense that the way F'yr grasps and grips and guides that has a very clear message: I want you, I need you, this is everything. And in this moment, here with K'vir, for F'yr: it is. If no one minds the part of his mind occupied by extremely heroic off-key theme music.

K’vir doesn’t always know his own mind, but in this instance, it is clearer. The time given to have that search was certainly appreciated and will lay the foundation for the rest that follows — that sense of safe and respect and mutual trust. It doesn’t take him long to suss out just how F’yr is moving, allowing his legs to drift apart and leaning more to taking the outside in this position. That smaller, intimate, space is anticipated, but welcomed as his frame tilts forwards naturally to the younger bronzerider.

He is ready by the time F’yr’s lips meet his, by no means returning the kiss in half-measures of his own. It does not take much for his mind to switch tracks, to let go of all in favour of this for now. Much like everything with him, his kisses are on the slow, sensuously deep, end; nothing is hurried, nothing is rushed. They rise and fall in intensity, following the rhythm set between them or the ones guided along. It certainly is a lesson in learning the way either of them like to kiss, that confidence eventually builds in tandem with enjoyment.

K’vir does not respond poorly to F’yr’s hands sliding over him again, giving all the subtle cues to welcome more without disrupting what they have. Need becomes mutual, no more demanded from him than it is from the younger bronzerider. Those very clear messages are ‘received’ and he will shift and move under those hands, guiding and answering with echoed permission agreement. His hands do not rest idle, though for a large majority of the time they’d been at rest, grip firm, over F’yr’s hips. But as they begin to move and things progress to further levels, they will move to caress over skin — careful, of course, not to disrupt, but no less clear with their own intent. One kiss, deepened into an achingly slow burn fuelled by nameless emotional outlet, has him reaching with one hand to cup along the younger bronzerider’s jaw — from there, his hand slides back and up into that longer hair. There, his fingers curl and grip and unless F’yr protests, K’vir is holding him there, until that kiss will meet its eventual end.

When the kiss (kisses, all the kisses - just how long did they end up kissing for? A long time) is finished, there's a sigh that's contentment, with perhaps just the tiniest edge of longing that is not pursued… by either party, as it happens. What comes next is the joint shifting with only silent communications to guide them back down on the bed, to intertwine their limbs, snuggle in close and just be, letting their heartbeats and breath that might've become ragged even with the slow and sensuous nature of the prolonged make-out sesh become even once more. Words aren't wanted, aren't needed right now. It's enough that they're together, right? It is for F'yr. In fact, the younger man, who has almost certainly seen less horrors, less instances to haunt him, ends up asleep within the mutual safety and comfort created by the cuddle puddle of two.

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