Chaos' Aftermath

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: Flight aftermath log — there is lots of MATURE THEMES, INNUENDO and LANGUAGE below!

Chaos, it's absolute chaos! Did anyone expect differently? This is Kihatsuth and though she's been rightfully caught and snared by Seksicanth (mind those talons of hers, dearie~), things unfold down below as expected — or not! Ru'ien's not exactly aware (or caring, really) on the details. Only that he and B'an get where they need to go… and that may have only lasted for as long as passing through the threshold of the door. After that? No holds bar. ANYTHING (and everything) goes! He's untamed, unrestrained in ways and yet compromising, mirroring both to the unknown of what will go down but to the bluerider's… tastes, as well. Do they make it to that bed, even? Who put a table in here!? That's just asking to be broken and everyone knows it! Things are gonna get low (to the window, to the wall) in here — eyyyyy~ Or maybe not. Maybe just some of that bad touch and very tongue in cheek euphemism at play! L I S T E N ! It really doesn't matter, as the end goal is just about the same in all instances!

Eventually (it'd be wrong to think this is the 'end'), exhaustion, completion and satisfaction are met, crossed, surpassed — and Ru'ien will collapse, wherever he may be, against whatever may be closest and including the one currently paired with him. Though his eyes are closed, he is far from any form of "sleep"; he's only still because he cannot right now and needs a moment (or six). Slow those ragged breaths, regain some semblance of coherency and, simply put — calm the [redacted] down!

There is some truth to that statement, and it's more than Seksicanth's crowed, « Aww, skeet skeet, motherf— » as his victory is assured. Do they leave a single inch of that guest weyr unmarred, or is the whole thing going to be a bit of a crime scene (or perhaps more appropriately, the wake of a tornado passing through)? There's shed clothing here, a toppled chair there, a table that really ought to be more serviceable, this is a guest weyr not a library, left in a crooked, crashed heap. B'an isn't going to be sad about its passing, anyways, not when there are walls to ruin, and cupboards to pin bad touches to, when there are hands and mouths and what are nice places like you doing in men like this words that from any other person would be purred and delicate, but from him are helplessly booming-bright, potential insult tempered by loose laughter and the playful capture of flesh between teeth. If this elicits banter in kind, makes the whole thing just as spirited as it is wild, well… He's as pleased to pull sounds of amusement from Ru'ien's lips as he is any other before stumbled progress is made to the next surface upon which to exert the effects of their dragons' tumultuous coupling.

Though the chaos remains thereafter, the majority of its context is lost between what feels like one breath and the next, gossamer strands floating free as though the whole thing were a dream whose finer details are slipping further and further away as he wakes. Eventually B'an surrenders himself to the present, focuses on bringing breathing back to some semblance of an even tempo, on mentally cataloguing Seksicanth, himself, and, finally, Ru'ien. His glance is cursory, polite, an assurance, perhaps, that despite however many flights it's been now, he's still not lost himself entirely to some basal nature. No blood, no crying, no broken bones? Can he check all those boxes? It's why, "You alright?," is a gentle rumble, the arm still slung over hips in a loose hold tensing just enough to let Ru know that question is for him and not his blue before he slides it away, courteous but hardly shy. "We made it to the bed," he notes as seablue eyes shift to glance around them, voice colored with surprise and a touch of pride, though being sprawled cattywampus across its end is hardly something to be proud of, Brodie. "And the endstand. And the table." Wince. "That's a first." The timbre of his voice and the minute twitch at the corner of scruff-touched lips hints he just might blame Ru'ien for that, but play can wait until he figures out just what kind of after-flight this is going to be.

Given the height and the build (well, B’an, mostly) of both the participants here, it SHOULDN’T be a surprise that the place is wrecked to a degree by exuberance (putting it lightly)! Woe to that toppled chair, RIP table we barely knew thee and surely it was there because someone meant well but did not think things through. Why worry about that? Ru’ien didn’t, not when there were more pressing matters — like the ruination (ha ha ha, how fitting) to walls, then onwards to bad touches elsewhere and hands and mouths demanding attention and equally sought. No insult taken, but he will be the one to purr retorts and laughed insults bantered back between panted breaths and gritted teeth. Spirited and wild is on the mark and Ru’ien’s swept up and along, willingly, and further goads the bluerider to more (so greedy!) as they shift to the next surface.

No blood, just the dark flush of skin, a few minor scratches that could fade at the end of all of this and a myriad of bruises — those may be more felt than visible yet. Typical, expected and nothing to cry about! Ru’ien isn’t crying the least bit but he makes some sort of throaty, groaned affirmative to B’an’s gentle rumble. It could be half protest too when that arm slides away and if he weren’t too mind-frazzled, he’d have brazenly gone seeking it. Who is shy here? He isn’t! Should he be? There’s too much of Kihatsuth still buzzing in his head, the withdrawal of influence a slow dragging ebb. His remark on making it to the bed is met with a low rumbling sound that is nothing short of the start of laughter. Ru’ien’s tilted his head down enough that much of his features are obscured by the strands of his dark auburn hair; there’s a lot of it and now that the majority of it has escaped the tie he had it in, it goes well past his shoulders. Those sounds are definitely laughter though and as B’an goes on rattle off each surface and firsts, Ru’ien finally finds it in himself to MOVE — his hand. Just one! Which goes for a blind sort of grope, long fingers seeking to splay and press against the bluerider’s lips. Does he make it on the first try? He might have brushed fingertips or knuckles against his chest, or along jawline and cheek before getting there. There’s a purpose! Mostly a TEASING, utterly playful, because barely have they rested there that his touch is drawing back — surely it was an “accident” the way his thumb traces over B’an’s lower lip, while the rest of his fingers curl along the shape of his jaw? “Shh… “ Ru’ien’s on to laughing between words now. “… quit it — can’t laugh too hard…” Too exhausted? BRUISED RIBS? Might be both.

Listen, we stan. Greedy is Seksicanth's middle name. Well, that's not quite true. It was long ago established that that's 'Fun-and-games', so maybe this can be his last. Seksicanth Fun-and-games McGreedydragon. It fits, given the unexpected ferocity of his possession of Kihatsuth and his rider's mind both. The bits of his personality that spill over have quips bearing down as hard and fast as desires, words equal parts playful, rude, solicitous, and sometimes - okay, most times - a little bit of all three. The more responsive Ru'ien becomes, the deeper he sinks, until thinly veiled euphemisms aren't even enough to quantify such lascivious provocation. It's a jocular devolution that thankfully - or is it sadly? - will live on in mere fragments.

Satisfied that the greenrider is alive and well, B'an looses low chuckle that reads as 'okay, good' without him needing to say anything at all. Though words and their plenty are as much his birthright as they are his dragon's, for now, nonverbal communication earns the same in kind. He is content to dwell in the relative quiet of afterglow, allowing Seksicanth's heady vibrance to slowly bleed out of his awareness, though perhaps there's just enough of that greed left singing in his veins that the tinge of potential protest laced about Ru'ien's affirmation provokes the bluerider's curiosity. His own chin tilts downwards to trace visible skin with his eyes, note the slope of nose or the rise of shoulder, whatever is in his immediate purview without being too bold. He chooses to focus on pools of auburn hair first, marshalling strength into that recently-departed limb to bring it back, to catch at dark strands, to roll them in a fan against the length of his forefinger. "Your hair. It is very red," he informs, as though maybe Ru didn't know. "I wasn't sure what color it was, before," when his dragon had him too busy hauling himself from the ass-end of the beach to make it to the flight at all, "and then I was too busy." There goes that fleeting smirk again, this time baring teeth on one side before lips fall back under his control. "I like it." Not that Ru'ien asked for his opinion, but B'an gives it anyways, admirition in his tone as fingers playfully tug-tug on that singular lock and then drift away. Emboldened, his forearm resumes its previous position, the casual drape of fingers a mockery of their earlier grip that held him tight, kept him pinned close, helped him move Ru'ien as he moved. Laughter clears that webbed memory before it has a chance to sink in, mirth cresting and rolling in vast waves against the press of fingers against his lips, teeth audibly clacking at their withdrawal, though whether he ever meant for them to actually catch skin is anyone’s guess. "That is hardly motivation, you realize. Normally, I’d gift you with benevolent agreement," accompanies a contemplative flutter of lashes for one ‘accidental’ touch too many (in his opinion), a low, amused hum sounding from somewhere deep in his chest as his arm tightens again, inviting without directly saying that casual touch is welcome and - given the ticklish drag of knuckles before fingers span to their full length and back again - might well be offered in return, except… "But you will have to find it within you to forgive me. I do not wish to cause trouble," yeah right, "or earn a lashing of your tongue," that twisted grin says otherwise, "but… your elbow. It is digging into my spleen." If they could just shift sideways?

Very alive and well, THANK YOU~ Ru’ien is dimly aware of any renewed curiosity from the bluerider and there isn’t much to see from the angle he rests at against him — or their continued intimacy and closeness. Likewise, the greenrider hasn’t yet taken full stock of just who B’an is. Oh, he has glimpses already replaying delightful snippets in his most recent memory. His mind is regrouping, albeit slowly and not without much haze and distortion. Little does the bluerider know that he COULD be bold in that instance and Ru’ien would allow it — as it stands, when he feels his hair being touched, it draws his full attention at last. There is a little scoff, a shuddered half-sigh, as if he didn’t quite catch that right but the bluerider keeps right on trucking. It leaves him a touch speechless, as he blinks and turns his full gaze up, blue eyes still tinged brightly with fever-lust. What? “Don’t know if I’ve ever had someone flat out start complimenting my hair,” he muses, the words lazy and thick, the rest near purred, his voice drops so low — that might be remnants of Kiha’s grip, truly. BUT HE LIKES IT! Keep going, B’an~ “Glad it’s my redeeming feature, in your eyes.” Light teasing, though Ru’ien visibly preens a bit from the compliment — or is the flushing from that fleeting smirk? Ugh, what is he doing!? (just kidding, he’s loving this so far because it’s RU and he’s shameless until lines are crossed)

Ooh, then that arm comes back and why yes, he’ll just snuggle in that much more! —shameless— All while trying NOT to go too far down the rabbit hole of very recent thoughts of the many ways he was held, moved, pinned… Oop, never mind, there goes! Only to be jarred back when B’an laughs again and those earlier fingers that Ru’ien had been curling along the strange young man’s jaw slip away and brush accidentally (“accidentally”) along his neck and collarbone. That tightening grip and the invitation implied behind it? NOTED. A slow grin morphs its way across Ru’ien’s lips, curving them lazily and — what, what? “Huh!” Grunted, in the way of surprised non-verbal apologies as he goes to shift his weight away from the bluerider. Said offending elbow (how DARE it!) is tucked back and used instead to partially prop himself up on his side. Much of his frame is still curved in a way to keep contact to the other; he does not seem at all against it or hurried to fully move from the bed. “Better?” Ru’ien asks, with a smirk and an obvious drift of his gaze because why the hell not? He’s not lewd with his appraisal, though he’s clearly… well, it’s difficult to say! He’s a tall man himself, but lean when it comes to overall musculature. Usually he is the one looming over others and as he takes in the more rustic, taller (okay by two inches BUT STILL) frame that is B’an, well. IT’S UNEXPECTED! “… jays, you’re a whole lot of…” Manly man. No wonder they wrecked the damn place —and each other— ! “Wow.” Smooth. Forgive him B’an, Ru’ien’s silver tongue seems to have been exhausted for the night.

Could he, now? Perhaps he will be bolder, yet, as previous flight mishaps and learned cautions fade into the back of his mind, pushed along with Seksicanth's influence. Ru'ien wouldn't know it, but the interest in hair color is a purely Brohdan-notion, innocent of anything other than an acknowledgment of a personal fascination and a subconscious habit of giving compliments where they are due, whether it's warranted or not. It's what has him blinking in the face of lazy-purred words. "Well I don't know why not," is stated as though presenting an incontrovertible fact, "it is spectacular, and you should know." Okay, so maybe it's not that innocent, or at the very least, he's learned to read a room. His own vocals drop octaves like it's hot over those last three words, fighting hard against the pull of lips as he nods, solemn, and utters a low, "Mmm, so far, yes. Your sole redeeming factor, really," rude and untrue, "though you're welcome to try to change my mind." MUCH KIND. SUCH MAGNANIMITY. WOW.

Still, B'an is clearly enjoying himself, enjoying Ru'ien and his teasing, emphasizes as much by letting that sideways grin unfurl with a wink to show he's joking, blue gaze perusing preening and flush alike. Luckily he gives as much as he takes when wayward fingers just-so-happen to brush his neck and a sucked breath immediately precedes a crash of lashes against cheeks and a shudder that is surprisingly delicate for a man of such stature. It passes as Ru'ien's fingers do, but it's clear the greenrider has found a spot that elicits reaction instead of simple awareness, no matter how quick he might try to move on in its wake. "Much," accompanies a shift of weight against the mattress, the repetitive stretch of toes implying perhaps it was less an actual offending elbow and much more a matter of blood circulation not quite making it somewhere important (listen, sometimes a man just wants to say the word 'spleen'). Still, silly wording has engendered the preferred result, and after a moment the curve of his body tilts ever-so-slightly in Ru's direction, enough that they're face to face as eyes wander, words come and go in incompletion, and Brodie laughs with such alacrity that it's clear all amusement that has come before this has been a shadow of what it could have been. It's brief, tamped down to quaking mirth and a wide, wide grin with a quickness, but it leaves a wicked spark in its wake, one that lingers as he somehow finds the space to lean in to the greenrider's person and drawl a deep-pitched, "And by which of my features am I redeemed?" Careful, Ru'ien, that question is loaded.

“Aren’t you just the sweetest?” Ru’ien pushes further with the teasing, maybe a little tap-tap of fingers against the man’s cheek, in that moment, only to half scoff with briefly incredulous laughter for such rude and untrue commentary coming from the bluerider. THE NERVE! But does that stop him from running a hand through his long hair? NOPE. Ru’ien’s just —innocently— working out some of the tangles and totally not taunting the bluerider. “Mhm, careful what you ask for — might end up regretting it.” The smirk that follows is playful but oh-so suggestive to much and nothing, as is the throaty chuckle following that —threat— comment. Further encouraged by that wink and grin, B’an doesn’t have to reassure him of the joking nature of this banter between them. Ru’ien certainly takes note of that reaction to the touch of his fingers to the other man’s neck, his eyes narrowing a touch in intrigue as such —weaknesses— details are tucked away. If exhaustion weren’t so closely lurking and already beginning to seep back in in the wake of adrenaline and flight-lust control, well… things might have taken a different turn in that heartbeat. He does not pursue, even if his gaze lingers there for a long moment in consideration — but no.

Instead they shift and move against the mattress and Ru’ien will unabashedly enjoy a moment of further visual exploration (and in the wake of his failed words) as B’an stretches or as bodies curve towards one another. Face to face, he blinks, eyes widening at the laugh — the true laugh, brought forth by the bluerider. It’s infectious, his lips pressing together to form their own wicked-touched smirk, not giving an inch when B’an leans in. Of course that question is loaded and of course he goes right for it! Recklessly, head first, because he is exhausted in body and mind and feeling as freed of inhibitions still as if tipsy-drunk (and maybe he is, thanks to days of dwindling sleep and a night prior of none). “Mhm, I can think of a few…” Ru’ien playfully suggests, voice dropped to huskier tones again, wry and teasing. He doesn’t say what, of course, because there may not be names (or attractive ones) for what he truly wants to point out. There’s the predictable lowering of his gaze, a shameless, shameful dive into more lewd humor that he apologizes for by way of a ‘just kidding (but not really)’ smirk before “sobering” — no, he further makes up for such crassness by touch.

Unless B’an objects, Ru’ien will end the game immediately but with all encouraging signs, he’ll press on. His hand lifts, those long fingers reaching out to touch and drag, half meaningful, half sensual, over parts of him. Over sloping curvature, over plane and angles, none of which are standard points but nothing about Ru’ien is standard — what he likes is abstract, undefinable save for explanation by touch. Ahh, but predictably the ‘piece de resistance’ is the curve of neck and throat and sorry-not-sorry B’an but he’s going to NOW exploit that earlier discovery for his wickedness! RIP, bluerider who thus-far Ru’ien has no name for (FOR SHAME)! Why stop there? Why not up the stakes, push the lack of boundaries thus far a little further? The mattress moves under the shift in his weight, as Ru’ien leans in and up (UP! such a marvel!), while his fingers caress down the curve of neck and shoulder and his lips seek to press against B’an’s. It may be brief and electric and FUN, that kiss or it could be something heavier, lingering and passionate — Ru’ien at least is considerate to leave that to the other to decide; it could even end abruptly and at least a line will be drawn then. It leads to the eventual lean back and if his touch has yet to be rejected, will continue in a more idle, whimsical fashion rather than respectfully absent. “… need anything?” Ru’ien purposely makes it seem like he is asking SOMETHING ELSE ENTIRELY, until a rolling chuckle gives it away. NOT QUITE (but maybe later)! “Drink?” Hopefully they didn’t destroy THAT cabinet with the refreshments… “Something to clean up? A moment?” To do just that, but with implied ‘privacy’.

Is he the sweetest? Is he. That grin might be honest, but it's a little too bright, a little too mischievous, as though bolstered by incredulous laughter rather than being deterred by it. It promises just as much as Ru'ien's narrowed intrigue - that another time, another place, another circumstance, there would be thinly-veiled suggestions or perhaps even bold explorations to seek redeeming factors for himself. As it is, he lets latent sexuality simmer to a low boil for the moment, blue eyes jerking up to where the greenrider's hand plays through auburn hair, watching the play of light on dark with an artist's appreciation for the aesthetic, briefly innocent of anything but simple pleasure of watching a show when a show is being made.

It doesn't last. His gaze naturally drops when Ru'ien's lips form that wicked smirk, then drops further still, trading glances for full-bodied glances because it's only fair (and certainly not because he wants to or particularly enjoys what he's seeing, nooo, that couldn't possibly be it). The arm still casually sloped over one hip moves, hand burnished by time spent under an island sun shifting as far as it can down one arguably paler thigh, yet another contrast that draws his avid gaze before blue eyes flick up from beneath lashes. "A few," comes with a crooked grin of its own, self-effacing humor hitting his tones. "Clearly I am a miser." At least he can give in other ways, going permissively still beneath the greenrider's hands, his own settling back against Ru's side in a loose hold that does nothing to impede potential wandering. If anything, it's encouraged by a rumbled sound, one that ends too-abruptly by the brush of fingers somewhere ticklish, breath taken in and expelled on a huff of amusement for his own reaction.

Reaction, but no objections. Not from him, especially not for this, for the shift of fingers upon his neck which - robbed of their 'accidental' nature - earn a silvery little shiver for each drag, the effect much like chain lightning moving through his form. He lets them come and go, lets them rob him of his sight as eyes fall shut, as though the need to focus on the sensation is overwhelming - though perhaps, judging by the warm, open laugh that immediately precedes the press of lips to his own, not overwhelming enough. B'an seems intent upon answering the question of just what kind of kiss it is is with another question: why not both? He moves like a person that's enjoying what they're doing, kisses pressed both up and down in an uneven rhythm, lips quirking into small smiles between each retreat and return, lingering for as long as Ru lets him. It's only when the greenrider makes to draw away that kisses become anything else, teeth catching at a lower lip that has surely seen its fair share of previous abuse. He seems aware, gentle but electric with that slow backwards drag, loosing a rough sound that speaks to purely masculine enjoyment before letting him go. "I stand corrected." Actually, he lies chuckling, but, semantics. "You have exactly two redeeming features." Hohoho, what a jokester. At least his laugh for Ru'ien's fakeout has him leaning back out of his immediate space. It takes a long moment for his answer to come, though judging by the relative peace of strong features, he's running a variety of pleasant alternatives through an increasingly tired brain before he says, "Both, I think. And then a minute or two," or thirty, or sixty, he isn’t picky, "to rest, and then," inviting without making assumptions that Ru'ien will stay that long despite the thumb that lifts to trace the center of his lower lip just as the greenrider did to his earlier, "with your permission, I would like to do that again." ANOTHER! -mugsmash-

Ru’ien does enjoy to put on a show for those he finds fascinating enough (or cares enough for)! He’ll drink up those glances too and what he happens to glimpse in turn, like the thirsty individual that he is. Again, NO SHAME HERE! And for as long as B’an encourages it? It will continue. Just as he continues to encourage any more of that touch under the bluerider’s hand! “What?” he muses, faking a slight incredulous tone for fun. “You, sir, are no miser!” Laughter briefly follows, low throated, as their mutual exploration of one another continues. He delights in every reaction, little or visible and no ounce of apology for his behavior.

No apology either for the kisses and for how —selfishly— Ru’ien drags out the exchange when B’an proves to be rather receptive! It pays off, when teeth come into play and he finds himself enraptured for that brief spell of time. “Two! Should I try for a third?” he quips back, smirk firmly in place and eyes narrowing in amusement. He’ll grant him that moment to choose, content to finally bask a little in silence and stillness (okay, maybe he started to drift a little there). His request is met with a lazy smile and an equally lazy hum of acknowledgment that quickly turns to a look of delighted surprise. Oh really? He lingers like that long enough for that trace of a thumb along his lower lip. Once he regroups, he exhales softly and chuckles. “You’ve my permission for anything,” Big man. Cue an implied wink! “Until I otherwise say. Deal?” Now to keep his end of the bargain!

It’s with reluctance and some —tenderness— caution that Ru’ien finally slides from the bed. Gaining his feet, stretching out his back, not caring that he’s buck naked and trying not to wince too much for new aches and bruises making themselves known. “Be right back~” he practically sing-songs, then gingerly picks his way across the weyr — GINGERLY because of the damage and not because he’s feeling it okay? FIGHT HIM. Given that it's a dark night out there now and whatever serves as lighting in here is minimal, he does most of his ‘work’ in dimness. Somehow it doesn’t result in further chaos, save one moment of him lightly barking his shin on the edge of something — probably the remains of that damned table! Serves it right. He’s probably taken a moment to clean himself up a little too, before returning with drinks (surprise, it’s boring water!). One glass passed first to B’an, while he settled on the edge of the bed. Tipping the glass to his lips, he’ll slake a little off his —one— thirst, before gesturing with a nod of his head. “If you want to clean up a bit, stuff just over there. Mind the wreckage.” As if his swearing earlier wasn’t warning enough!

To be fair, it's entirely possible B'an's never known a day of shame in his life. It takes a special kind of person to unironically wear tourist-bright colors to foreign shores, after all, unless that's Ru'ien's hot pink, leaf-print shirt hanging limply off the foot of one toppled chair. At least he has the jovial personality to match, ego merely a touch at the edge of eyes that sparkle bright as he says, "Are you sure? Making you earn further praise, whereas yours was freely given," or at least, freely implied enough that he drew assumptions of his own, "that doesn't strike as miserly to you?" He'll continue moving alright, fingers of the hand at his waist tucking in to offer a gentle pinch, as though maybe he can teasingly provoke the admission out of Ru. Or, barring admission, perhaps more laughter.

The sound certainly does its job, draws eyes up sharp from where fingers have dipped to trace a course over long, lean muscle, gaze sweeping over the rider's face before he lifts his hand to point lazily in the direction of Ru'ien's face. "I like that, too." His laugh, its infectiousness. "It makes you more attractive, which I declare to be unfair, and so I revoke it again." GASP. Is that even allowed? Aren't there rules to govern this game? "And so a third you must still find." It can't be Ru'ien's lips again, despite his apparent fixation… though if something were to break his attention away from the play of thumb over the give of soft flesh, it's an offer like that. "Anything?" Impishness overwhelms his expression even as his hand drifts downwards, knuckles curling under the greenrider's chin, pad of his thumb pushing and pulling at once, the kind of pressure that encourages lips to part as he leans in, hovers just shy of completing what would surely be an open-mouthed kiss before he grins a wicked little grin and says, "And I thought it was weyrwomen who liked to play with fire. Deal." Fingers tuck upon release, tapping the underside of Ru's chin as he leans back, freeing him from potential mayhem with a smirk as Ru'ien finally rises from the deeps sheets.

B'an does not rest idle long - if he does, general contentedness might overwhelm him, drag him into sleep before he's ready, and so he pushes himself up until he's seated upright, hands wrapped around crossed ankles, stretching to encourage kinks and tender spots to ease. "Mmhmm," is an easy response to trilled words, an uptick of eyes accompanying a low laugh and a mirthful, "take your time." He's enjoying the view, or at least, what of the view he can see in the semi-dark, eyes trailing after the greenrider until it's no longer convenient or polite to do so. There's a wince for the collision of limb with something, a reflexive, super helpful, "Watch out, there's a giant table, there," leaving his mouth before he's had a chance to check it at the door, brilliant grin hopefully enough to earn him forgiveness for jokes at Ru's expense (RIP shin, we hardly knew ye). He accepts that glass, takes a sip from it, but if Ru'ien has one thirst tended to, far be it from B'an to deny him the brief slaking of another. One big hand shifts to cover the mouth of his cup as the other slides itself into the hair at the back of Ru's neck. He moves at the same time, shifting until he's looming on one knee, other foot finding the floor as he seeks a long but ultimately chaste press of lips, almost as if he couldn’t quite stand to let it wait until later. If it takes him a moment to draw back, it's only because he's had to wait to ask his body to move again, huffed laughter painting kissed lips because he knows this is going to hurt before he even fully unwinds himself with a hiss and a soft 'oof'ing sound. Not even bothering to excuse himself - where else would he be going except to follow Ru'ien's guidance? - the bluerider carefully picks his way through the wreckage of their flightlust, free hand lifting to attempt to tame mussed golden hair, gaze skimming it all with dull amusement before, "The oven too?!" Look, maybe give him a minute before expecting him back. He clearly needs it.

That is NOT Ru’ien’s shirt but he would approve highly of the eccentric tastes (and maybe it’ll go “missing”)! There’s only a chuckled reply to B’an’s first question and a grunted-protest in playful ways to the pinch — and maybe a swat to the offending hand. Behave! The bluerider gets no provoked admission but the alternative laughter. “How can you revoke my face?” Ru’ien can’t help but laugh further at that (infectious is right!), his hands briefly lifting to touch against his cheeks and jaw —and he’s blushing—. Low play! Are they tossing the rules out, now? Does the offer count for a third? “Mhm.” He hums in reply. Anything! He likes to roll with the high stakes (with strangers and no strings). His eyes carefully watch B’an, while he’s completely under the spell of that press to his lips, allowing the other to lean closer — his eyes had begun to close, but drift open again for the tapping of fingers and wicked grins. “I’m not your average greenrider~” Promises, promises!

Ru’ien does, in fact, take his time. There was probably a muttered retort for B’an’s delayed “warning” of the table and an implied —rude— gesture with it; just further fun, further teasing even at a distance! Forgiveness is sought and given, though no offence was ever dealt. As he settles as comfortably as he can on the edge of that bed, ignoring the protest of a few aches and bruises, Ru’ien has just set his glass aside when B’an is suddenly there — he feels that hand slide into his hair and he leans instinctively into it. He’ll be eager to meet that chaste and long press of lips, eyes fluttering closed for the duration of the kiss. Then the bluerider is on the move and he will offer some laughter in turn and no apology for the other’s current state — maybe just some shared sympathy! Once B’an has stepped away, Ru’ien is going to extend what dwindling energy he has left to deal with the sheets on the bed (probably just ridding them of one layer because who really cares). Only then does he (carefully) stretch out along the bed, sprawled mostly onto his stomach, with the pillow drawn half under his chest and head. It should be no surprise either that he’s facing outward towards the dimly-lit room; if he’s going to let his thoughts and mind drift to numbness, he may as well enjoy some glimpses. Will B’an forgive him, if exhaustion creeps up and upon his return, he finds the greenrider fighting off (much needed, so badly needed) sleep? At least there is a low tumble of laughter from his lips and a groggy — “Never done it on an oven before?”

IMPISH. That grin is impish when Ru'ien swats his hand away, eyes alive with good humor and a very real threat he might do that again… here! Or… here! His hand moves, quick, up Ru's side towards his ribs, then down to the curvature of bone at his hips, pinchy-pinchy fingers never touching skin but certainly - certainly - threatening it. Ru'ien is blessfully spared a third tease, blue eyes crinkling at their corners at that question. "Just like this," accompanies a rest of his palm right over the poor greenrider's face, heel of B'an's hand barely touching the tip of his nose, fingertips only just grazing his forehead. "There. Now I can rest here in peace, without the burden of your allure." Which clearly has not actually worked given the spellbound quality of that near-kiss, but he tried. Doesn't that count for something? Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe fingers drift ghost-light over what blush is left, admiring it before pitching eyebrows high for that assertion. "No," comes slow, amused, but just as frank as every compliment that has come before, "I do not think you are."

But there Ru'ien goes, and if a little of that booming laughter closes the increasing distance between them, well, maybe B'an just can't help himself. "Did that," is a verbal riposte to the literal meaning of that rude gesture, pleased air lingering even as he takes his turn, allowing a little time for Ru'ien to see to sheets and generally unwind as he pokes about cupboards and counters before seeing to himself. "No," is called back from the gloom of the kitchenette. "Perhaps my mother's raising influences me yet. The very idea scandalizes," rolls droll off the rider's tongue as he makes his way back, his same shin barking off that same bit of table-detritus with a suck of breath (though you'll note he says NOTHING). "But there is a joke here about buns and the very real concern of baking them the wrong way, I just know it." This as he sits his refreshed glass of water next to Ru's, taking a moment of aesthetic appreciation of the greenrider half-sunk into his pile of pillows before he makes a low sound and moves to clamber onto the other side of the bed. Though general reservation over the course of their brief interaction marks him as a person who is not opposed to but generally not used to offering casual touch, he is, perhaps, a quick study (or a bit of a selfish bastard - one). He needs only a corner of a sheet for himself, internal furnace-warmth more than enough to fend off Xanadu's idea of autumn - the rest of him is content to settle near Ru'ien's back, thread the fingers of one hand into dark auburn hair, and gently massage at scalp with a murmured, "Sleep, if you wish. My dragon requires conference before I'm allowed." Though judging by the low, thick roll of his voice now that he's settled, he will not be suffering his silly beast's thoughts for long.

Beware pinching hands! Ru’ien is ready to deflect with well aimed swat-smacks that’re far from threatening much in the way of “pain” — it’s far too playful for that and even half-hearted from too much withheld laughter to be effective. There’s a definitive snorted-chuckle for his face being blocked out by that —massive— hand and mention of allure. It is followed up by a smug tilt of his lips and a look that speaks obviously of the frank compliments. Duh, he knows he’s not “average” and goes through lengths to keep it that way. B’an is fascinating for the sake of being an ‘unknown’ (his charm thus far and attractiveness are added bonuses); they do not know each other and he finds himself drawn by the bluerider’s impish behavior in response to his own. Was he expecting a quick rejection, perhaps? Highly likely.

Muffled laughter this time, as Ru’ien turns his head into the pillow where he’s settled on the bed. His eyes are heavy, too heavy, to keep open for long but his senses haven’t fled entirely. “That’s buns IN the oven, my good man,” he drawls, voice thick and lazy. “But if you make one about buns on the oven, you have to be sharp-tongued to slip something in about the rest at risk. Cleverly!” Ru’ien is in no shape to make the attempt but the thought alone has him snickering. There’s only brief muttering for B’an’s disruption to the bed as he climbs to his side, but he soon turns appreciative to the thread of fingers in his hair and the gentle massage. “Kihatsuth already kick him out?” No apology for his green’s habitual ‘wham bam, thank you sir’ attitude. He almost drifts away for good this time, before he hears the answer, but something draws him back reluctantly. “Mhm. I do have to sleep — can’t, usually, the days before she flies. But,” Ru’ien tilts his head, looking back over his shoulder to peer with a heavy, sleep-drugged look. “You can stay.” In case it hadn’t been made apparent in all that banter between them. “If you want.” A small smile then, that carries with it quiet understanding if the bluerider chooses not to or slips away at some point in the night or early dawn.

Oh no, not swat-smacks! The horror. Ru'ien is not, it seems, the only one taken in by experimenting with the unknown, particularly when said 'unknown' is a friendly element. It's a far cry from awkward rushes, cold shoulders, or - worse - the delicate aerial dance of THE CHANCLA. It's perhaps why B'an indulges just so, just enough, teasing and kind and never quite anything but himself but not asking for anything Ru'ien isn't willing to give, either. So he pokes, and he plays, and he tumbles his tongue over words in the hopes of provoking blushes or laughter or both for the fun of it, with the very real notion that he will leave this weyr and probably never see Ru'ien again, and that's perfectly alright.

Perhaps some of that is Seksicanth's influence. The bluerider certainly seems surprised for the question of Kihatsuth having seen his dragon out. "I'm not sure she had a chance. He is always quick to leave, says that staying runs the risk of… something strange, but the effect, he says, is of a canine chewing its leg to escape a trap." Coyote ugly, B'an. It's coyote ugly your fourth-wall, universe-breaking dragon is referencing. "I will be very concerned, indeed, the day Seksicanth finds a green he wants to keep." It'll be the start of a multi-million dollar, R-rated franchise, most likely. "No, he is arranging for the care of our pet wherry," wait, what?, "amongst other things. According to my friend, we seem to have misplaced the grain."

What any of that says about his homelife is up to Ru's interpretation - or not! B'an certainly isn't explaining just yet, voice rumbling with leftover laughter as he returns to the previous topic, "But now that you've said it, I realize my error. Buns in the oven. Yes. That is quite the separate issue," one neither of them must needs worry about. But with that settled, he resumes the unassuming scrub of fingers through hair, sleepy, distant eyes pulling back from dragon thoughts to offer Ru an equally small smile and a reassured, "Thank you." A beat, then, "I'll be here." Though what manner of morning it is for them, he will leave up to Ru'ien's interpretation, more than willing to wake up warm and slow and entangled or de-bed swiftly to execute an into-the-pants-dance in pursuit of freedom or breakfast or otherwise. The world is his oyster~.

“Probably better that way,” Ru’ien doesn’t seem the least bit troubled that Seksicanth up and left Kihatsuth — it may actually explain a lot as to why he’s sensed the green “calm” in her restfulness and not the throbbing ripples of impending —doom— temper when her hackles are raised. There’s a snort for the reference of a trapped canine, but the reference is equally missed. As for the potential of a R-rated franchise well… Kiha is NOT that green~ “… what? …” he can’t help but scoff some laughter then, sleepily incredulous even as his eyes close again. “A pet wherry?

Even if B’an explains or doesn’t, Ru’ien’s not long for the conscious world. He doesn’t answer further on the previous joke save to chuckle under his breath. By ‘thank you’, he’s wriggling himself a little to get comfortable against the bed and the bluerider — and then he’s out. Deep sleep, restful dreamless sleep, that will be broken either by the arrival of morning or bodily needs. As for the manner of how the next moments go in that span of morning? Well, if he’s met with a warm, agreeable reception, then he will impishly and playfully coax B’an. It is lazy, subdued in comparison to the night prior, but a morning romp all the same. When in Rome? Selfish of him, perhaps (but since when has Ru’ien cared). Eventually clothes will be sought, slipped on and plenty of comments for B’an’s colorful tastes. It seems that he is intending for their paths to deviate the moment they leave, not from cold-shoulder but more that he’s dimly aware they should be getting back to their own respective lives. That’s fine, right? Also perfectly fine that they never exchange names (it was by accident)!

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