Break My Heart Again

Disclaimers: Adult language, themes (A LOT OF THEM), a lack of clothes. Post-flight~

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.

Another BOOM rattles the glass in the windows of the flight weyr cottage at the edge of the feeding grounds wherein the latest pair of flight winners are catching their breaths as Glorioth wings away from Koth to go compete with the thunder claps in crowing about his virility— just in case anyone in the whole damn Weyr is unaware of just how AWESOMELY AWESOME he thinks he is heretofore. No one was trying to sleep tonight anyway, right?

We could hope the streaks of lightning arcing and branching in spectacular showing of just what an early summer storm in Xanadu can do with the canvas of cloud-dressed midnight sky. Some could even hope he'd be smote by one of those handy bolts, but alas, Pern, lacking in gods to direct things to the most deserving targets, will have to sigh for their unheard non-prayers, since Pern doesn't have those either. BUT NO. NEITHER SNOW (which would be outrageous in early summer) NOR RAIN (of which there is plenty) NOR HEAT (of which there is also some, though less now it's night) NOR GLOOM OF NIGHT (which the RADIANCE OF HIS VALOR ILLUMINATES MOST PERFECTIONLY, NEVER F'YR) STAYS THIS AUTOBIOGRAPHICAL-COURIER FROM THE SWIFT COMPLETION OF HIS SELF-APPOINTED ROUNDS; the message will reach all the awake SOON ENOUGH.

At least Koth is rid of him after the impaling which must be worth it somehow — if not to the green herself, then perhaps to her rider.

Certainly, F'yr isn't looking in a hurry to unfold from the close embrace in which he holds his lover. His face nuzzles in against a neck only slightly maligned by marks that, unlike that first time, so long ago, draw no concern nor horror from the blond, his short beard tickling against the skin there. "Lucky me," is a little raspy from a throat dry from the recent dragon-driven exertions, but no weaker in certainty for it.

"I've been missing you." Some people in this bed might have a hard time believing that, given the many months long holding pattern of not being willing to give one another up despite not being able to find a functional way for this relationship to work between how F'yr is and how V'ro is. The words are true, and maybe more true because there's been that unhappy emotional distance (if not growing, then grown) between them in the wake of their impasse.

For now, those complications can be ignored, can't they? For now, F'yr can just pull V'ro against him, uncaring about the more-than-rumpled sheets they never bothered with, nor anything else that's a simple side-effect of impassioned hours spent here. Right now, can it just only matter that Glorioth caught Koth and F'yr and V'ro get to reap the benefits?

Koth is more than happy to be free of Glorioth once she's properly satisfied and, much like her rider, she's quite content with the idea of sprawling out and enjoying the aftermath on her own. V'ro clearly isn't sprawled out on his own, though, tucked into F'yr's arms the way that he is. There's a good possibility that he might have tried to slip away if given the chance, granted, but maybe some part of the bronzerider knew that. It doesn't mean the greenrider doesn't want to be there pressed against F'yr now that he is, though. "There are easier ways to get in my bed," he teases, voice quiet with all of his usual hopeless affection with the complete satisfaction of a flight well fought. Never mind that this isn't V'ro's bed.

Maybe some part of the bronzerider did know that, does know that, because those arms don't seem to be taking any chances that V'ro could still slip away, yet. This is F'yr, though, so of course if V'ro wanted to go, he could, but as long as the greenrider isn't protesting, the larger man is going to keep that cage wrap of arms around his lover intimate. "Are there?" He murmurs, sounding obliviously intrigued, even though he knows at least some of them from previous experience. "I'll have to see if I can sort out something that appeals, then." He wouldn't want to be in V'ro's bed if not for how he feels about the greenrider, as complicated and fraught as that always proves to be. Right now, they're in the happy place. He's not ready to leave… yet.

"Let me see…" He drawls, letting the touch of his lips hum against the skin of V'ro's shoulder before he does loosen his arms, but only so he can lean up on an arm and use a hand to press V'ro's hips flat so rather than having his back to the bronzerider, he's flat on the bed and being immediately straddled. One hand snags one wrist, and the other hand is mirror dragging them slowly up above the greenrider's head and leaning over him, all those flexed muscles on display. "I think snatching you up and holding you hostage like a villain from one of those harper romances," that he makes fun of, "was on the list?" There's playfulness in this, an eyebrow quirking to add to the light delivery of the question before he's dipping his head down to kiss V'ro's cheek and down to his jaw to nibble along the line until he can find the other man's lips.

Happy place, indeed. Whatever flimsy walls he's put up to hold his feelings at bay in the recent past, V'ro is here and present right now for his captor. Not that he does anything to try to get away from F'yr lifting his arms over his head. Not when there's so many muscles to wish he was touching with a soft, unconscious whine before green eyes are meeting blue. "I don't think the villain usually gets to fuck their hostages in those," he teases back before those lips make it to his. And once they're gone, "But maybe they should." His hips lift suggestively under F'yr.

"No?" F'yr lifts his voice in a tone of false confusion. "I could have sworn…" He starts, shifting his hips down to meet V'ro's suggestion with his complementary one. "But if you say they don't then, I guess it's off the table." As if he hadn't heard V'ro say maybe they should. F'yr's hands release V'ro's wrists in apparent defeat, though he sinks bodily a little closer with no intent but a subtle tease in the movement.

"I'm sure the villains are meant to feed their hostages," he goes on, smile pulling onto his lips, blue eyes warm on V'ro. "Hungry, captive?" It's a joke, but it's a fun one that he's carrying on with, apparently. "Or thirsty?" It adds a new twist to the aftercare that V'ro must be familiar with by now. F'yr's hands aren't idle, one arm supporting him while the other brushes along Vro's body, caressing as much as checking for any tender spots of his intentional-in-the-moment/accidental-afterward making.

How can F'yr do that when V'ro offers such a sweet little whimper once he's released. He doesn't push it, though, since it's not like he's really ready to get all riled up again. "Shards, yes," he offers for either hunger or thirst. Potentially both. "I always seem to be hungrier after Glori's had his way with us," he says. Not that Koth has had that many other males catch her. "I'm fine," he adds, just in case F'yr has any lingering worry that he might have hurt the greenrider in a way he didn't want.

Obviously F'yr has a will of iron. He doesn't even a little. He does have a smile for that whimper though, and a swiftly placed kiss on V'ro's forehead as promissory act for later. "Good," is sincere for the reassurance, thank you, V'ro. "I'm glad." F'yr's hand makes one more feather pass over skin he can't get enough of before with a little protesting sigh of his own, he tears himself away, sliding off the greenrider and twisting back to offer his hand to help pull V'ro up to sitting. "You get comfortable and I'll see what's stocked."

A glance toward window whose drapes are pulled closed but have enough of a gap to reassure F'yr that yes, it's still very much night (or very much storm, or both) which prompts the question, "Alcoholic or non?" as he rises from the bed stretching a little before he's effortlessly putting on the show that is F'yr walking nakedly toward the cabinets where he can find water and whatever V'ro is asking for along with a few (sadly shelf-stable) items that V'ro's been known to like to bring back with him on a tray to the bed a few minutes later. He's also set up a basin for washing off and included a warm wet cloth if the greenrider wants to do some basic clean up before eating.

"Looks like that storm is going to keep going a while." F'yr observes after heading back to the basin to get started on his own clean up. That means they're stuck here… at least, in life according to F'yr who apparently has never been impassioned enough to dash through roaring thunder storms to escape something unpleasant and can't imagine that. Listen, it's fine, he might have a chance to learn here.

There's the smallest trace of nerves even as he suggests, "I think we can put the rest of the night to good use." The inflection is largely something that implies inclusion of villains getting to have their way with their captives. But the way he licks his lips before opening his mouth again is more concerning than sexy. "But there's something I've been wanting to talk to you about… if we can." This is such a big if, but hey, that's why he's asking here, now, while there's a storm. Fair, right?

"Alcoholic," comes without much thought, though green eyes certainly will be watching the show. Getting comfortable will include a few moments to clean himself up before V'ro is settling back onto the bed after pulling back the top cover they never got under to push it toward the foot. "I like the way it sounds," he notes of the storm, though likewise seems to have no particular inclinations about getting out into it. We'll see how that holds up.

Maybe V'ro doesn't pick up on F'yr's nerves right away, focused more on the bronzerider in a physical sense, but when he does pick up on something being Not Quite Right, his own expression goes full neutral in preparation for what he's expecting to be Something Bad. "Uh. Sure."

F'yr can't quite help the flash of a grimace as V'ro catches on and braces; he's not wrong tho'. At least the bronzerider doesn't dive right in, but rather makes a quick finish to his own clean up and pads back to the bed, settling cross-legged to face V'ro. Then— an awkward silence. It only lasts a pair of breaths though as F'yr tries to find the best way to say something that probably won't be great no matter how he says it (especially if his history is to be taken into account).

"I'm concerned," he starts, pausing slightly to squint and then have a slight nod to confirm that word choice, "that you'll get blindsided and hurt by not knowing who else I'm involved with and broadly how." He would wait, but he might be worried that V'ro will cover his ears before he has a chance to say more, so he hurries to add. "I would rather tell you myself." Let the hurt be on him. Apparently, possibly, here, now. Then he shuts up, unfairly soulful eyes on the man he loves.

Okay, well maybe this isn't quite what V'ro was expecting here, if he was expecting anything in particular. But that doesn't mean it's something he's delighted to discuss with the bronzerider. "F'yr," he says, patient but earnest. "That's not something— we don't have to talk about that. It's not any of my business who, or how, you're involved with anyone." If it sounds rehearsed, it's probably because V'ro has been drilling it into his own head for ages now, distancing himself from all the parts of F'yr's life that he's not part of.

"But it is." F'yr evidently disagrees with the rehearsed sentiments. "Because—" Oh, this is where things are going to get better (read: worse, much worse), "Because our lives here are sort of interwoven. I don't know that it will ever come up, honestly, but I don't want it to be a surprise to you if it does. You don't have to think about it ever again, but I don't want you to end up feeling— I don't know. I felt foolish when it happened to me." WHAT EXACTLY he doesn't launch into, but clearly he's speaking from his own experience. "I felt like I couldn't trust what was happening, and I don't want that for us. I know this— this part doesn't work for you, but I need you to be able to trust me." And somehow telling him about other people is a part of that in F'yr's very blond head.

However hungry V'ro had been, he sure is focusing only on his drink now, and pulling his legs up toward his chest in a more defensive pose, conscious or not. "Fuck. Fine. Just say whatever you think you need to say, then." He knows better than to add any of his own questions to the mix, so he'll just sit there looking slightly pathetic staring at his knees.

Only… how could he? With V'ro sitting there, looking like that. "Fuck," is a sure sign that F'yr's not going to be able to just rip the bandage off no matter whether he thinks it would help with what's festering in the wound or not. "I look at you and feel like I'm torturing you," and judging by the tone there, it's tearing him up. (Of course it is.) He looks— helpless, torn. "I don't want to force it on you if you don't want to know," and clearly he doesn't, or so F'yr has interpreted from that surrender, "I don't want to see you hurt worse because you didn't know and someone or something else forces it on you."

He stops, he presses his eyes closed and then opens them again, internal storms plain on his face even as another crash of thunder echoes without. "What I want," he tries for simple, but it comes out a little fraught, "is to share with you what might help protect you. It's not—" He almost stops, because it's a bad idea but he's come this far and on he goes, "It's not like I'm any less me because you don't know who I care about." Maybe that's why this is hard for F'yr - because he doesn't see how that specific knowledge might change things for V'ro, wired so differently than F'yr himself.

"Then stop hedging around and tell me," V'ro doesn't actually growl the words, but he sounds like he might if he has to tell F'yr to just get on with it again. Green eyes lift to look at the other man, expectant. Any other thoughts that V'ro has about everything are kept very deliberately to himself.

F'yr DOESN'T LIKE IT, V'RO. He doesn't like it at all. But he listens to V'ro this time, even if he has to (apparently) sigh before he does. "There are seven people I care deeply about. I'm sleeping with three, physically involved with two more, and will never be physically involved with the other two. I don't know if you'd rather think of those like 'family.'" This labeling thing is not one of F'yr's strengths and he shrugs. He probably wishes he was closing his eyes so he doesn't have to see the impact of this in V'ro's face, but he doesn't look away. "I sleep with you, with Ru'ien, and with Rhodelia. I'm physically involved with K'vir and with Risali. I love but will never be physically involved with R'hyn and Ila'den." There. All out. Now he waits, in a quiet kind of anxiety muddled with pre-agony for whatever he's just done to someone he loves.

If F'yr is looking for any particular reaction, there isn't one immediately forthcoming. V'ro hears what the bronzerider tells him, but it will take more time to process, frozen into stillness. It's not until a tear falls down his cheek that he finally stirs again, turning his head away and lifting a hand to wipe his cheek in the same motion. He takes a shaky breath, and all he says is, "Okay."

F'yr HATES IT. Because all that very large man wants to do is scoop V'ro up into his arms and take back the part that hurts, but not the knowledge. It's not possible even if it were possible. He does move, toward V'ro, lurchingly up onto his knees, but he stops himself from reaching. "We— don't have to talk about it anymore, but if you have questions…" He trails off, hopefully letting the greenrider know he can ask. At least F'yr refrains from saying the three words V'ro no longer finds very special, just this moment. He shifts a little more, a little closer. "What can I do?" It's quiet, it's a little desperate. What can he do for V'ro now that he's done what he's done?

V'ro is clearly avoiding looking at F'yr. He's not sobbing or anything, but he has to wipe at his eyes a couple more times, and sniffles are hard to hide. Once he's able to manage it, he finishes the rest of his drink and, for a moment, looks like he wants to throw his glass at the wall. Or F'yr. But he sets it aside instead. "I think you've done enough, baby," he says, voice quiet, the briefest glance flickered toward the other man before V'ro is shifting to lay down with his back to the bronzerider.

How to fix the unfixable? F'yr clearly doesn't know. He doesn't even know what to say or do now, even not in the name of trying to fix something he maybe broke (or maybe was always broken?). There's silence for a time, the feel of F'yr shifting back onto his heels and then slowly stretching out on the bed beside V'ro. He doesn't reach for him. After a few more moments of silence, he asks, voice tight. "Do you want me to go?"

"Maybe." Beat. "I don't know," V'ro answers unhelpfully. At least he doesn't sound upset? But he sounds… empty, which might not be better. Before F'yr can actually decide to leave, though, the greenrider is turning and shifting himself alongside the bronzerider. He doesn't look at him, but this body, those arms, even the way he smells has been such a source of comfort for V'ro in the moments he lets himself forget about everything else. And it's something he needs right now.

As long as V'ro is in indecision, F'yr isn't going to take the choice into his own hands. He's there, when the greenride moves, there and so ready to pull him in, to curl him in those arms, to entangle his legs and hold V'ro just so close, like he's not only cared for but cherished (spoiler alert: because he is). The bronzerider resists words because he doesn't know what to say, but after some moments of just holding him where, let's be honest, F'yr's breathing is a little ragged from the emotions he's keeping in check now, he starts humming a soft song; just something soothing, something to fill the silence he doesn't know how to any other way. If V'ro will have it, eventually, F'yr will move carefully, slowly, to see if V'ro wants to be kissed.

The silence is maintained between them. Right now V'ro only wants this part of F'yr. The part that he can pretend is his. But he must know it's not. When F'yr moves to kiss him, the greenrider will meet him. It's careful at first, almost subdued, but then teeth catch the bronzerider's lip and V'ro is demanding more. More strength, more passion. More pain? The kind of pain that V'ro can deal with. "I need you."

The truth is that F'yr's fervent, "Anything you need," doesn't actually extend to anything. Were V'ro to pull out of a hat something like, 'leave everyone else and just love me' that would probably not be covered by this 'anything.' This 'anything' does, however, cover anything V'ro needs here and now to be a balm to the hurt F'yr's dealt him. If that means V'ro wants things harder, rougher, more physically painful, then F'yr who has learned what V'ro likes but is slow to step over certain lines he's not naturally comfortable with can make those steps now if that's what V'ro needs.

He invests in this, like it's his only chance to keep V'ro from just going, when the storm lets out. He's in this like he can prove with his body what he can't prove to V'ro in words - the deep and passionate nature of his love for this man. While he's here with V'ro, as with every time, no one else matters. F'yr's whole focus is on V'ro, on satisfying every need he can. When it's over, F'yr doesn't want to let him go— will only let him go if V'ro makes him, or if someone's body needs things that want distance from the bed to do. They will, perhaps, be on the cleaner's 'ugh' list for spilling the contents of the tray heedlessly. Fortunately, aside from the drinks, it was nothing that made too much of a mess, so there's that?

V'ro does growl at those words because he knows F'yr doesn't mean them, or at least only means them conditionally. But he lets the way he feels about them drive him into urging the bronzerider out of his comfort zone and further into V'ro's like it might be the last time they ever get to do this with each other. Maybe he's not sure it won't be. When it's over, though, he'll let himself be held by the larger man for a time, buzzing with endorphins and satisfaction, until he's sure his legs will work again to take care of more private business. When he reemerges, V'ro pauses to look at F'yr, but doesn't seem to have anything to say.

By the time V'ro has returned, F'yr has the mess more or less in hand and whatever private business he'll need to take care of will have to wait. He sits on the edge of the bed, not yet dressed and eyes come up when the greenrider returns, taking him in. There's silence for some moments, and then he's rising and moving toward the slightly shorter man, reaching out for him with every intention of gathering him into an embrace if he'll have it. His cheek touches V'ro's hair, tucking him as close to his body as he can manage for another few silent moments. "Want to dare the rain-" because it is just rain now, not thunder and lightning anymore, "-and go get a bath?" Time for stomachs to settle? Possibly since he adds, "And something to eat after?" This is silent F'yr-ese for 'we don't have to talk about it but please don't be leaving me for good.' As he pulls back to look down at V'ro searchingly, it's all there in his expression.

The greenrider allows himself to be gathered in against F'yr, content enough to press himself along the bronzerider like he was made to fit there. And when F'yr suggests braving the rain for a bath, V'ro says without much need for consideration, "Sure. I'd like a bath." If he wanted to wash F'yr off of him, granted, he probably wouldn't agree to the idea of bathing with him, so that's something.

The exhale is marked by some relief (if not total). F'yr seeks V'ro's lips for a brief press of his own before his forehead is doing likewise with the greenrider's eyes closed for a moment. "Clothes," he concludes as though there had been some conversation ongoing about it. "We'll need our clothes." At least F'yr is getting better about making sure these things stay intact from flight start to farewell? Stepping away from V'ro, he starts to hunt out their clothes, probably aiming to keep things as comfortable as possible… rest and staying comfortable is the best way for a wound to heal, right? It's worth a shot.

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