Memories in the Making

Disclaimer: Adult language and themes. Pre-flight through post-flight.


Xanadu Weyr - The Silvergrove (Ru'ien and Kihatsuth's Homestead)
Nestled in a large clearing is an unusual sight and marvel of Craftsmanship. Modest by size alone, what makes the weyr stand out among so many others is simple: it is raised UP among the largest and sturdiest of the trees. Heavy support beams have been expertly inserted to keep the structure in place. A pathway of smooth flagstone leads to the walkway that, after a slight turn, leads directly to the front porch and doorway. The weyr itself is largely one story, with a small second floor ‘loft’ and plenty of windows. A third porch area is in the back, accessed only by passing through inside. The grounds behind the weyr hold a small but functioning personal forge and further behind that, a large shed. The wallow for the residing green is below the structure itself, with hidden components that are adjustable to lend some shielding from the elements when needed.

Inside, the rooms are cozy and rustic in design. The front door leads to a small l-shaped ‘foyer’ created by the loft above, but otherwise opens directly into the main living area. On the one side, a kitchenette rests beneath part of the loft and partially hidden by the slightly curved stairs leading up. Predictably leading to the bedroom, along with a more private sitting area above the kitchenette itself. The main living area itself is complete with a wood stove and carefully arranged furniture. In one corner, a workbench and appropriate custom built shelving rests, neatly kept and organized. Beyond that, recessed into the back, is the full bathroom to one side. The back ‘wall’ is made up of more windows and two doors set in the centre that lead to the back porch, creating more ‘open’ space. In the final ‘corner’, is what appears to be a metal pole — only slightly out of place. Extra support or something more … exotic?

Evening has just begun to creep in with the gradual setting of the sun and even this early summer night holds a warmer note. The forests are coming alive with the usual nocturnal sounds of insects, a calming, peaceful atmosphere the deeper one goes. Ru'ien’s weyr isn’t exactly in the back woods of Xanadu, but it’s far enough down the paths. It means fewer neighbours! He’s also kind enough to keep his private haven well lit for any would-be visitors. Of course, the secondary purpose would be so that Jerry the Wherry is also very obvious from his (specific!) perch — he’s even boasting a fresh coat of garish nightmare paint that is clearly Kihatsuth influence.

The Queen of Chaos is not curled in her lair wallow this night and for reasons that have been obvious of late thanks to Ru’ien’s increasing proddy behaviours. She may not be glowing (or so you think), but the greenrider’s a walking neon sign himself! While Kihatsuth is off playing court elsewhere, Ru'ien has been making sure he was as prepared as he could be. He's making the rounds for the umpteenth time in his tiny kitchenette to be sure all is there that needs to be. Some preparation had to be made ahead, as he doesn’t have much of the luxury features others have to cook food or even keep prepared food for long (unless it’s non perishable). All of this was planned in advance (well, not the proddy part, anyways) and he’d given F'yr a heads up to the day and time for the bronzerider to finally come by. That he’s in the state he’s in shouldn’t be a deterrent, right? Consider it bonus entertainment, F'yr!

As the time approaches, it’s a wonder if his increasing flustered behavior is all proddiness or now a good dose of nerves and anxiety. Hopefully F’yr isn’t delayed in his arrival, or Ru’ien might just yield to temptation and break into the alcohol early.

It's possible there are nerves at work on both sides of this equation. The knock that comes is particularly F'yr's, whether or not Ru'ien knows that, and standing outside the door when the greenrider comes is a bronzerider who's taken the time to have had his hair trimmed, his short beard likewise groomed, and dressed, not up, but with care - clean cargo shorts in a khaki color and a white button up shirt over a ribbed undershirt. The button up has— for the texture attentive— subtle white embroidery around the collar and here and on the length of it. It wasn't any kind of premeditation that made F'yr's shirt a good candidate for a game of connect-the-dots, but sometimes life has a funny way of working out.

There are bags slung over each shoulder - his familiar messenger bag that usually holds his work things, and the bag he takes on overnight hikes or hunting trips. An easy guess is that these hold what one would expect - his work things, and what he needs in case of an overnight stay to be ready for work in the morning, lest he not have time to walk from this out-of-the-way homestead to his own and then still get to the office in time to avoid helpful commentary. There's a tentative smile on his lips for the greenrider, but aside from that the nerves are relatively well concealed. This is just a thing they're doing, right? Right. He'll roll with it. That attitude's gotten him through crazier ordeals.

The knock brings a flustered moment to Ru’ien that is caught between a surge of delighted excitement and pure nerves. After one last pass of his hands over his hair and smoothing over his clothes, he takes a steadying breath and leaps strides with (shaky) confidence to open the door. Originally his intention was to greet F’yr with open arms that would have been slung over his shoulders to initiate an overly playful crossing of thresholds from outside and in. Instead, Ru’ien lounges against the frame of the doorway, equal parts playful and sultry, leaning heavily on one arm and an all too familiar broad smirk in place. His choice in clothing is nothing more than a thin material black crop top that hangs low on his shoulders but tighter along his arms and chest and a pair of form fitting black pants — the effect of both leave little to the imagination in his current posture. The majority of his (long!) hair is unbound for once, save for one side styled in varying braided rows. “Hey,” he greets, low voiced and carrying into a pleased hum while his eyes roam over F’yr’s well-groomed and carefully dressed self. that isn't his cheeks and neck flushing with color, either

“Come on in~” Ru’ien goes on to add, while gesturing with his free hand for F’yr to step inside. F’yr could probably get a decent glimpse of some of the main areas of the weyr. It’s largely open floor design, the ‘foyer’ they’re standing in now caused by the loft being directly above their heads. Almost immediately in front are the stairs, with the entrance to the kitchenette at the base to one side — walking just a little further inside leads directly to the ‘main’ living area and the largest space all together. First impression even by this point could be the rustic, cozy feel of the place despite the simplicity.

Ru'ien will slide purposely out of the way, hand smoothing over the door (and surely it’s just nerves making his fingers splay that way and linger a fraction too long) to make room. Assuming the bronzerider doesn’t leave him hanging, he will close the door once the way is clear. “Here, let me help you with those!” Hands are already reaching to grasp whichever bag is closest to him, even if it’s still slung over F’yr’s shoulder. Whether it’s his fingers grazing that embroidery in passing or just a closer look, the result is just about the same; Ru’ien will visibly fixate, if not by gaze then touch or both “… is this new?” he asks over an audible intake of breath. He might even amuse himself with a quick finger-trace of connect-the-dots, meant to be a brief, teasing play that obviously leads him down a proddy rabbit-hole; Ru'ien can't tear himself away, so easily ensnared and enthralled, giving up any guesswork to his state.

Farmers, by and large, and F'yr, in particular, are not known for their keen sense of style - for themselves or others. It's not that he misses the impact of Ru'ien's choice of clothes, but it can't be helped that much of the nuance is lost on him. He is, in point of fact, still looking at the greenrider's face, very likely not even aware of the playful and sultry pose (this is a man who doesn't recognize flirtation when it's literally in front of his face, remember, although he is slowly improving— a little), when he returns, "Hey yourself," in a voice infused with happy-to-see-you affection and warmth. It just means he'll discover the tightness of those pants in due course, right?

There is a subtle pause before F'yr steps within. It isn't the first time he's been inside this place, after all, but these are very different circumstances from the last time. Ru'ien is actually living here, for one. He stops only a few steps inside, letting his eyes scan over the area, perhaps trying to make an effort to note all the things that make this a different experience to keep flashbacks and unpleasant memories at bay. Slightly distracted, he shifts the bags off his shoulder, the overnight pack coming off first, followed by the messenger bag, offered over to Ru'ien, only to look down as the proddy man fixates.

Blue eyes blink, brows furrow, there's that moment of perplexed observation as he answers, "Ish. Glorioth and white don't really mix so I don't—" and there it is, the hiccup of enlightenment that changes his tone of voice, "—wear it much." DON'T MINE THAT THE TONE THAT FINISHES THAT SENTENCE IS SUDDENLY VASTLY AMUSED. "Do you like it?" He asks, EVER-SO-INNOCENTLY.

On the flip side, Ru’ien lives and breathes by flirting (intentionally and unintentionally alike) and never seems bothered if no one bites at the bait. He finds it ohso amusing when it seems to go right over heads too; so the dynamic works and F’yr’s got all the time in the world to learn (or not)!

It’s very different circumstances, indeed. Ru’ien living here is certainly the main one and the weyr being completed another (with some design changes from the unfinished version). He’s no stranger to flashbacks and unpleasant memories — he’s haunted by them regularly, on the rare quiet and idle nights with his mind too unsettled to ignore it. Not that there is any sign of that in his expression or his movements, nerves playing more under the surface and it could be a partial blessing that his proddy state will give them some form of entertaining distraction.

Which has already begun, with Ru’ien not even remotely aware that F’yr is only just cluing in. There’s a low chuff of amusement from the greenrider, half-caught between a proper laugh and playfully dismissive in his pre-occupied focus. Does he like it? Oh, Fear~ The answer is written CLEAR AS DAY on his face and the way his fingers trail and dance up and up, grazing that collar now. Eventually those fever bright blue eyes lift too and meet his. “What do you think?” he breathes in teasing retort, voice a touch raspy with a lazy smirk to match. “How could I not?” he muses next, while the back of his fingers graze the curve of the bronzerider’s jaw and further to the smoother skin along his neck. All this, while he subtly shifts a half step closer, and then it can be felt — the heat rolling off of him, to match the visible flushed look now darkening by proximity alone.

Ru’ien’s in the thick of it, the amount of intensity likely not unfamiliar and he doesn’t appear to mind tipping towards temptations. He makes an effort in control, eyes fluttering closed a moment as he swallows hard, lips parting as he licks at his lips and leans in to speak. “… do you want to settle in first?” he asks, while his entire body language at that very moment says he’d really prefer to be making out KISSING right now and less of the talky-talk. “Or look around?”

It happens that this particular greenrider has been, on other occasions, under vastly different circumstances, exposed to F'yr's peculiar proclivities when it comes to encountering a proddy Ru'ien. There is just one knowing flicker before the bronzerider's face is wiped clean of any trace of understanding. Brows furrow to expertly affect a more simplistic mind than the blond really possesses, and he summons a convincing, slow-drawn, "I don't know. It might not be the kind of thing everyone likes." This, as Ru'ien's fingers are going through the short beard down to smooth skin and stepping closer.

It may, in fact, be both F'yr's general obviousness to flirtation and the implications there in and his commitment to his current course as it applies to proddy greenriders, that he doesn't seem to be even vaguely aware of all the temptation Ru'ien is facing, with all those F'yrian textures right there for the touching… if only F'yr would stay close enough for him to take advantage of them. In another move that defies having any grasp of what Ru'ien's current mood wishes (or, more realistically, in not so subtle move to frustrate those wishes), the bronzerider is stepping farther into the space, pausing only to realize he's still got his boots on, and crouch to undo the laces. "Looking around would be good, I think. Re-orient me." Replace memories. That much is actually real, but surely F'yr could have chosen to do things in a different order if he were planning to be, in any way, cooperative to his proddy partner.

“Well, it suits you!” Ru’ien’s quick to compliment F’yr at last for the choice of shirt (and not just an excuse to take an admiring look). He doesn’t appear the least bit deterred at first but if the aim was to frustrate, the bronzerider does succeed. Mild frustration and puzzlement both flicker across his features when F’yr goes from stepping into the space to crouching, only to vanish after a particularly growled huffed breath. His hand will withdraw, but not without ghosting over the bronzerider’s hair — and his mind runs the gamut of vivid wild thoughts (about gripping that hair, pulling to make him look up …) in the span of seconds. All of which rush out of his head as his thoughts change, like a tripped switch, along with his mood in a reorientation of his own.

Ru’ien steps back, mouth curving into a lazy smirk as his hands now lift to —fuss with— gather his hair and twist it over his shoulder. It busies them long enough for him to gather himself, as he muses. “Alright~ Your bags will be okay there?” He’s presuming that F’yr didn’t bring any food. He’ll rock a little on his (bare!) feet while the bronzerider is busy removing his boots. “Whenever you’re ready,” he’ll add, with as idle a sweep of his hand to indicate that F’yr is welcome to kick start the “tour”, though he notably drifts away from the stairs and kitchenette — those will be for last.

Not that one has to go far to get the general idea of what the living space is like. Ru’ien’s weyr isn’t large at all and standing in the main living area, where it is the most open, is pretty much it. There is ample floor space despite the presence of a loft overhead, various fixtures and furniture. He’s gone to stand anxiously by the couch that is placed, more or less, off centre to the ‘room’. Two other ‘love-seats’ join it to form a semi-circle-like arrangement around a simple low wooden table. A work space is set up in the corner by the windows, currently laden with half-finished projects, sketches, materials — all plenty of evidence of Ru’ien’s ‘can’t focus worth shit’ stage. He probably tried to clean up and failed miserably, as much of the jewelry material is texture based. Across from all that mess is the woodstove, safely built in a specific area lined with specific flat stone.

Beyond that is another ‘wall’, which is part of the corner room that contains the bathing area behind a sliding wooden door. In the recurring theme of the place, it’s rustic and simple — just a sink, a standing shower and a toilet. If one walks past that recessed room, a few steps more lead to the back doors that open onto the back porch. In the ‘final’ corner, there is one oddity: a single metal pole. It’s secured to the floor and a beam above, but the space all around it is unadorned.

F'yr tilts his head to cast a smile up at Ru'ien when his hand ghosts over hair, but only briefly, too briefly, before the laces are once more his focus. Once the boots are off, though, he's padding in socks to accompany the greenrider, abandoning the bags. There was no food brought if none was asked for. It's for the best, probably, since F'yr, if he gets his way, is going to be trying to draw things out.

It's just strange how as he moves through Ru'ien's space he reaches for things. Surely the bronzerider is not making subtle suggestions to the potentially receptive greenrider. And yet, there goes hishand, to the back of the couch nearest where Ru'ien stopped, F'yr casually stopping slightly too close, just enough in his space for the clean scent of him and the textures of his shirt to be within the immediate sphere of notice. His hand rubs along the couch a moment, like he's petting an animal and not thinking on it.

Just when he might be tipping the balance of attention by proximity alone, he's stepping away, drawn apparently in that moment hahaha, so intentionally to the things all over that work space. He settles himself where he can reach. "It's very you," he observes, voice warm for all his bodily teasing. Nevermind that while he says it his hand is drifting to touch this, to stroke that, to tap this other thing that has just a fascinating texture. He's very good at looking like he has no idea what effect he might be having here. Maybe he's having none~

Once again, just when he might be about to tip Ru'ien into action on one of his subtle suggestions of what he's touching, of what maybe Ru'ien should be touching, F'yr is up again and going over to examine the curiosity of the pole. This time, he quite purposefully (but also genuinely) twists back toward the greenrider to lift his brows. "This is for that new hobby you were telling me about?" One hand goes to stroke the pole, but not in a smooth motion, no, in small, repeated strokes that end with a bit of a jerk. Listen, he's terrible. There is no defense.

Ru’ien did not ask for food to be brought, as it’s late enough past the usual dinner hour — he presumably has something stored away, but more in the area of tapas and snacking versus anything fancily prepared. They’ll get to that, perhaps when the kitchenette is explored (or not). Either way, food isn’t on the greenrider’s mind (but there’s certainly a hunger of a different kind that is very prevalent)!

He’ll watch has F’yr moves throughout his space, not the least bit possessive or protective over what the bronzerider may find of interest. If he’s growing more flushed or shoots a sharper, keener glance, it’s for reasons that F’yr may have intended. His approach and return to close proximity cause a faint shiver in Ru’ien, his hand curling briefly along the couch as it drags away and feathers in a not-so idle manner over the bare skin of his exposed midriff to the hem of his own cropped shirt — finally he’ll loosely hug his arms about himself (in a weak attempt to keep from immediately setting upon that textured shirt). His gaze will linger sidelong, slightly hooded, on F’yr, while he’s definitely picking up on the scent and having to bite the inside of his cheek. so not not playing fair, F'yr

Then he’s stepping away and Ru’ien exhales in a mixture of frustration and relief, slowly piecing together that there’s a game afoot and finding he’s eager enough to participate. Even when F’yr goes into his work space and his hands reflexively grip tighter against his arms in an effort to not leap in to follow. They’ll be there awhile if he does and maybe that can be entertainment for later. Maybe. But F’yr could easily catch the way Ru’ien’s eyes track him, the fevered gleam, the increasing flush to his skin and occasional hitch to his breath. It takes him several beats to realize he’s been spoken too and blinks, dazed. What? “Of course it is,” he replies, voice deeper and huskier with him not making an effort to control it. “It’s my little slice of heaven. My sanctuary when I need it!” When he needs it? He’s speaking of the weyr as a whole, of course, but such details are lost.

Of course Ru’ien’s drifted closer despite trying to behave (that resolve is rapidly dissolving here, too) and just as he’s lowering his arms and likely seeking to ghost his hand over F’yr’s, the bronzerider is off again. Does he catch the quietly breathed growl? Because one is voiced, followed by a playful narrowed glare. Tease. TERRIBLE (he loves it, please continue)! Oh and it’s the pole now and Ru’ien’s gaze widens briefly as he hungrily observes those motions. DEFINITELY NOT FAIR, FEAR Ru’ien’s immediate response is a low, pleased hum that morphs into a low throated chuckle. “Yes.” The word is purred, as he inches his way closer in slow, deliberate steps. He’s reaching for the pole himself, fingers gliding with obvious familiarity and if he happens to touch F’yr’s hand if it’s there, well… isn’t that coincidence? The same can be for the way he leans, attempts to slide in just that much closer. “It’s more than just stroking,” he teases, with a pointed smirk that suggests there’s some double entendre that only he’d get. “I could show you~” The offer holds no set time; it can be now, or later or another time (or never).

With bemusement, the bronzerider —so clearly in better control of himself than his companion— watches the greenrider's hand happen to drift across his own. A single brow lifts and his chin tilts down and to the side just a touch to ask, so innocently, "More skills with a sturdy staff to teach me?" Here is an experiment. Just how does Ru'ien respond to the texture of patterned words? Is that part of it? Or does it drift along. The repetition of the 's' is hit with a kind of precision that draws a subtle attention to it.

His hand moves off the pole but he shifts his weight onto his other foot, putting him in that frustrating just near enough proximity to be maddeningly within Ru'ien's immediate sphere of attention, but not near enough that a casual-oops~ maneuver will let them touch again. If the greenrider wants to touch him now, he'll have to make an obvious move. "I'll take you up on showing me how you do it sometime." He does not commit to learning, but then F'yr rarely says no to suggested activities because his lifestyle since coming to the Weyr has been so much ruled by 'say yes, what's the worst that could happen?' Oh, is that how F'yr managed to discover his sexuality and end up with seven loved ones? Oh well~

"But let's see the rest," F'yr drops right at that impeccable timing for maximum temptation before moving away again. This time he does look back to Ru'ien once he's out of range to indicate a hand to ask silently if the loft is next or the kitchenette.

The experiment yields small success, with Ru’ien ‘hanging’ on those words and simultaneously having no apparent understanding why. A fluttered, flustered, shift to his expression happens as his mind grasps at the edge of that textured pattern of speech. It leaves him mildly perplexed, but that is wiped away in favour of an amused, wry look. “Maybe,” he muses in turn, his gaze following that shift in weight, how frustratingly close F’yr has become. His free hand glides over the neckline of his low-slung shirt, distractedly or did it just get really warm in here? as he speaks more in a low tone. “It was more an offer for a private show.”

Don’t worry F’yr, Ru’ien holds similar outlooks and harbours no judgement for that kind of discovery and the amount of loved ones as a result! He was in the midst of preparing to pounce move, curving himself just-so against the pole but a beat or two too slow; F’yr will ‘escape’ and Ru’ien will sigh, casting a not-so subtle (faux) pout for their continued game of cat and mouse. Executing a half-spin away from the pole he slips effortlessly into a sashayed sway of hips and haughtier stride, aiming to glide past the bronzerider. Just close enough, too, for a ghost of a touch in passing, electrified for that breadth of a second. He tilts his head, giving a pointed look cast sidelong and over his shoulder that beckons to follow him…

… into the kitchenette! Which, with an open concept, is accessible from both directions where it’s nestled in the corner beneath the loft and stairs. Unsurprisingly, it’s not only a small space but relatively unremarkable. It has some counter space — which Ru’ien immediately settles on by half sitting on the edge of it (it’s the only way F’yr can get by… wait, is that an impending trap?). Cupboards no doubt offer the usual storage requirements for dishes, non perishable foods and the like. There’s a sink too, of course, but beyond that? No oven. Not even a stove top! It’s minimalistic, to say the least, but Ru’ien doesn’t seem bothered by it. "It isn't much, but it serves." GET IT? Ru'ien is leaning forwards, hands curved over the edge of the counter to balance his weight, his still-feverish gaze lingering on F'yr. The 'trap' set isn't really hidden. It's a narrow space where he's perched and it'd take no effort at all for Ru'ien to stretch one leg out to barr the way — and that'll be his goal, of course, if F'yr ventures in. Block and redirect with a guiding hook of that said leg, drawing the bronzerider purposely into a shared personal space — a not-so subtle invite to a small interlude, if he's willing to go along with it.

The ghost touch gets ghost smirk smile in answer, a little impish in its own right, a little appreciative of the maneuver for both the touch and also the technique. F'yr doesn't move a moment after it, but only to let Ru'ien get that much ahead. Maybe he's finally noticing just how those pants hug those curves and enjoying his view… maybe he's plotting. Maybe both?

He strolls the steps it takes to get to the entryway to the kitchenette, and leans against that frame at the entry observing the trap the space thoughtfully. Maybe the way to frustrate this plan is to not give the trap a chance to close. "Whatever works," F'yr's agreement is easy. "If the homestead hadn't come with all that, I wouldn't have made it a priority. I still bring food from the kitchens most days. But it is nice to be able to do for myself now and again, even if it means remembering to haul ice for the cold box." He contemplates the space— in a way that must be slightly exaggerated because it's so obvious. "Now, a bathroom with working piping, that's a luxury," he adds, because he's seen the bathroom before without having to visit. And his home is certainly lacking in that amenity.

Will he just stay there? Waiting for the cat to conclude the trap is useless if the mouse won't come into it? He might. It does seem the style he's going for tonight with his particular proclivities about how he treats proddy riders… but then, most of them, he doesn't want to sleep with. This may be the critical difference and why F'yr catches the greenrider's eyes as he quite purposefully pushes off his lean and takes one swaying, slow step closer, then another, then another until the trap is sprung and hands settle on the thigh to drum his fingers and look down as if it were a total surprise to find himself so blocked, complete with a faux perplexed, "Hmmmmm," in the moment before the leg hooks and draws and he comes with it - with pretended reluctance. It's not actual protest, that line is carefully avoided because, of course he wants to come, but perhaps he's testing to see if the greenrider (proddy or not) enjoys a man to put up a little (pretend) fight. If not, that can be dispensed with, but if so… well, F'yr does like games, as tonight has proven.

F’yr can drag it out all he wants! Despite the burning restlessness bottled up under the surface, Ru’ien is managing some decorum of calm and collected but it’s only a matter of time before even that control snaps. “I suppose,” Ru’ien muses, dragging it out as one might if undecided on whether to agree or not. He doesn’t focus on those details, choosing instead to grin around a low laugh. “I had to splurge somewhere!” That draws an even broader curve to his lips, as he purposely makes the joke and dismisses the fact that the real splurge was building up in trees. “And it’s not even remotely as fancy as some get.”

Had the intended ‘prey’ not sprung the trap, there would have been much flustered huffing and growled disappointment but a renewed effort to plot something else. As Ru’ien catches his gaze, he’ll watch in barely contained delight as the bronzerider ‘walks’ into his “trap” and, as expected, he springs it once the moment is right. That F’yr plays along, faux perplexed mannerisms and all, only delight and amuse Ru’ien further. His testing will yield a quick, clear answer: yes, a little (pretend) fight is in the greenrider’s good times book! He feigns having difficulty in snaring him and encouraging a little back-and-forth between them — and he’ll adopt the appropriate look of false-annoyance that is swiftly undone by the way he laughs and the playful smirk to follow. It’s also a signal (and warning) that he’s had enough and is about to make an attempt to take control.

Which he’ll do by abruptly swinging his other leg out, intending to fully wrap it as well around F’yr. Of course, if this leads to even more ‘struggle’? It’ll only rile the greenrider up (in a good way) and could lead to a swiffer break in his resolve. Not that he hadn’t intended to make the move regardless, but it will carry a hungrier, sharper edge depending on if he’s denied. Ru’ien has to lean back to wrap his legs around F’yr’s hips and once he’s succeeded in drawing him in by however slim a margin, he’ll push himself forwards. Brazenly, his hands will hook into the top of those cargo shorts and tug with sharp and pointed emphasis. Get over here! However intimately close they become, Ru’ien ghosts his hands up and over F’yr’s shoulders, draping each arm to follow until they can cross loosely behind him. There was a goal to this but hazy now, fading fast as Ru’ien visibly struggles under renewed closeness.

“… one more part of the tour,” he breathes shakily, a touch hitched, voice low and gruff. Hushed, even for the two of them in this small space. “You ready?” It’s playful on the surface, a gentle tease but beneath it runs a mixture of unspoken emotions. Is he? Are either of them?

LISTEN, RU'IEN, you don't have to feign having trouble capturing F'yr, he can make that part real, but in the good times frame of things once that test proves positive and not off-putting. He will, however, not press his luck there, and take the cue from Ru'ien's laugh and smirk to settle there in the curl of his leg, snugging closer when his second joins the first to thoroughly entrap him and hands yank him in all the quicker. It's the best kind of captivity, of course, so the bronzerider has no complaints, only an amused smile, while his blue gaze are speaking all affection and, more than that, a particular kind of joy in Ruin's Ruin-ous— wait, that's not right, Ruin-osity? Probably that. THE POINT IS, it is because it is this particular person enacting things in the ways he's presently enjoying that boosts F'yr's complete presence in the moment with his partner.

BUT NEVER F'YR, Ru'ien will have the chance to get riled up all the more if he's so inclined when the man turns his head as though to observe the drape of those arms, and slide a sly glance back toward the greenrider so at least he has warning before F'yr blows a breath across the nearest bit of skin. Does that tickle? How about his beard when he leans that into the arm that's just there and the contrasting soft feel of his lips that are first warm and dry, then wet when his mouth opens to drag a touch of teeth there. LEST YOU FORGET THAT HE IS TERRIBLE, he's pulling back with the shameless grin of one knowing, here, now, just what effect he's having (does he? Really? Unlikely, but listen, he'll fake it until he makes it) to drawl, "Oh, I don't know—"

AND MAYBE HERE HE GETS CUT OFF? IT COULD BE, HE WOULD ROLL WITH IT. BUT IF NOT, he can go on to say with faux gravity, "There's just so much to see here in the kitchen-" and he purposefully pauses so he can tack on the he-is-guilty-as-sin admission of, "-ette," because he knows full well he's seen just about all he needs to see here, now and they could move along to the last part of the tour. BUT REALLY, he's ready. (Or thinks he is.) Some dragon, somewhere else is certainly READY for whenever the critical moment occurs — lest anyone think any of the F'yrsome FRIVOLITY has DULLED HIS SUPERIORLY SUPERIOR SENSES when it comes to greens that glow.

Riled up? More like set ablaze! Ru’ien notes that sly look (how could he miss it?) and the warning, but any defence is stalled outright once F’yr’s breath blows over the bare shoulder; his shirt hangs low, leaving it exposed and vulnerable. Visible goosebumps rise, as the rest of his frame draws taut. fuck It ends with a strangled note in his throat, caught between a whine and groan, arm twitching under the sudden assault of beard. Harsh breath is sucked through his teeth and let free in sharp hissed exhale. “Ffff—uck me!” Isn’t that the plan, Ru? He could have been meaning to curse F’yr’s name too (also appropriate). It does more than tickle and he is locked, frozen, under the onslaught of touch — not just any touch in this moment, in his current state, but Fear’s (and that has importance).

oh. Oh. OH. Teeth! Contrasts! Ru’ien chokes back a whimper, lips parting in panted breaths, eyes narrowed and feverishly vivid. HE’S AWARE OF THAT TERRIBLE-NESS NOW! The bronzerider may have well skipped talking, it’s evident the words are delayed in sticking in any coherent form. Blood thrums loudly in his ears, suffusing his skin with a rather lovely flush in color. Even if F’yr’s unaware, Ru’ien chalks it up to PLAY and games or at this point is uncaring of details. He’ll almost let him finish, rushing him on the tacked-on admission within a half a beat. Hands lift to cradle either side of his head, his grip rough in his haste to draw the right angle — and Ru’ien’s lips meet his in a fierce, deliberately-measured and heated kiss. It starts heavy and continues to deepen, with his hands drifting down to indulge in toying with texture! that shirt and the familiar shape of F’yr under it.

How long are they caught up? Seconds? Minutes? Time is irrelevant. Ru’ien breaks off as abruptly as he instigated, breathing heavily and body trembling in protest of being denied more (or if there is retaliation). He rests his forehead to F’yr’s, if the bronzerider hasn’t moved beyond his reach, gathering himself but not wholly still; he may rock gently, unknowingly, against him (and not helping, really, but letting him come down gradually) in the interim. Nuzzling follows, his sudden low, husky laughter half muffled against the bronzerider’s skin and shirt collar. At least he sounds heavily amused by his lapse? READY FOR ANYTHING, F’YR? SOMEdragon, somewhere else, may be knowingly weaving and sewing some chaos among some choice prey inspiration. An artist cannot be rushed! That expected and critical moment could happen any moment; the right stage needs only be set with the correct audience and a spark of (SUPERIOR) inspiration for that well-timed push!

IS IT THE PLAN, RU? Judging by the grin in the previous pose between the last unutterably fabulous thing he was DOING to drive the greenrider crazy and the words that subsequently come out of his mouth, one might have reason to doubt that things will go according to plan — if, indeed, that is the plan. Maybe the plan went out the window— when it turned out Ru'ien was proddy tonight. Maybe F'yr is improvising now. At least, so far, it's feel-very-good improvising though, right?

Ru'ien can score a point (if anyone is keeping score in this win-win game) in that the rush of movement to draw him in for that kiss draws a startled, "Mrglph-?" It's unintelligible and swallowed by the complete preoccupation of engaging in that kiss in the next heartbeat. Maybe it was because the ambush was so thoroughly successful that it doesn't seem to even occur to F'yr for moments - seconds, minutes, however long - to resist participating as fully in that heady kiss as he can. When the abrupt end comes, he's notably winded, his blue eyes have that particular look that they get when Ru's managed to inspire his lust in addition to the more consistently present love.

"That," he breathes, as foreheads press together, still mastering himself, "was cheating." If his nails dragging along those tight-tight pants on Ru'ien's outer thighs might be called retaliation, then there's some. He pulls his head back, enough to clear his head just a little. "Seems like there ought to be some kind of penalty." He adds, perhaps an out-of-hand suggestion continuing on the wordplay of 'game' and 'cheating.' But once it's out, he contemplates, eyes coming back to Ru'ien thoughtfully, then more thoughtfully. The look is enough to evoke chills for the right audience - but then, they've never involved punishments or anything of that ilk into their bedroom relations before.

Before he has time to think too long, too hard about anything like that, F'yr rocks back a little, though not seeking (yet) to free himself of those legs. "Are you looking to fuck or be fucked tonight?" Bald? Yes, but there is something about that word in F'yr's mouth, the way it's shaped, the— what's that word… oh, the texture of it, that probably is not going to help anyone's self-control right now. Is he ready for anything? EVIDENTLY HE STILL THINKS SO because he doesn't know any better He might be hurrying things here in the homestead anyway because of the way his lips shape those words. WHAT CAN GO WRONG??

IT MIGHT HAVE BEEN A (smol) PART OF HIS PLAN! Proddy was not the plan, but hey, it’s not like he can stop that train wreck can he? It is feels-very-good improvising and it will serve; sex is not the end all, be all, regardless of how heavily Ru’ien might suggest with his teasing (and physical fixations).

The drag of nails brings a throaty hummed note as his lips curve in a wicked smirk. One hand lifts to press to his cheek in the most feigned look of dismay. Oh no! Was it cheating? He’s totally NOT sorry about it! It shows, in the way Ru’ien’s smirk broadens to a slanted grin, in the low way he chuckles, and how his fingers briefly trace along the corner of his mouth and bottom lip. Worth it! So worth it. Quirking a brow at the suggestion, his eyes narrow under that look (and a little shiver goes up his spine), playfully challenging and very intrigued as his mouth silently works over the word penalty (oh really?).

Before he can form an answer to that, let all that is potentially implied sink in, F’yr’s at it again with the word texture play. Double combo, the shock and thrill, of hearing something so bald, spoken and shaped in that way! Ru’ien visibly shivers, eyes drifting closed as he drags his teeth over his lower lip. When they open, there is no denying the heat in them, beneath the coy gaze he turns upwards to the bronzerider.

“Both~” Ru’ien purrs huskily, hands dropping down between his legs to grip the edge of the counter for support as he leans in, chin tilted up smugly. His legs no longer wrap as firmly around F’yr but still there to give the impression of intimacy. All simple movement, done in teasing execution between one breath and the next. “I want to be fucked and doing the fucking.” He repeats, trying his hand at mimicking the same play on texture by changing the cadence of the words; it brings a little quiver, but that might’ve been his hair sliding forwards over his shoulder too from his forwards-tilted posture, back curved with his weight braced all on his hands. One of which is briefly raised as he points upwards in an unspoken gesture, his eyes never leaving F’yr’s. Shall they head on up? Will it be hurrying things along? What about that penalty, Fear? what can go wrong

"Ambitious," F'yr draws the word out so he can get his mouth around the different and varied textures of sound in the singular word: 'am' - soft to hum, 'bit' has the plosive air from the b and the bite of the t, though it wouldn't normally be sound, 'ious' the wide-to-narrow y sound exaggerated because of how he's broken up the word that should normally end 'chus', here ends 'yus' letting the sibilant at the end hiss a little between teeth that just touch. It is not, of course, actually ambitious. They are, after all, young men still and despite the fact that both doubtlessly have jobs to get to in the morning (or maybe afternoon if one or the other or both took a half-day in anticipation of whatever tonight was), a little lack of sleep won't kill them, especially in the name of intimacy, because it is that that has the better part of the appeal to F'yr, of course. Intimacy with Ruin.

… Ruin, who is at a disadvantage in this game, because F'yr is not obsessing about textures, not in the least, although some amusement does touch his face for Ru'ien's adjusted mirroring. It's here, now, in the wake of the hand's gesture that is silently so suggestive, that F'yr breaks the legs' possession of him, turning the tables as a hand loops around the wrist of the gesturing hand, a touch firm enough that it might just be riding that line of slightly uncomfortable, and possibly a little racy. Racier certainly, when he uses his other hand to snake around behind Ru's lower back and snare himself a greenrider into his arms— into a full length press of body to body by the simple expedient of a push. (He doesn't have the leverage so Ru could resist… but would he really want to? The claimed wrist is quickly tugged behind the greenrider's back and just as quickly the other is sought to be snatched up to join it (though F'yr will make the effort if the greenrider would like to resist).

All of this leaves their faces awfully close. It means F'yr doesn't have to do more than murmur and can still be well-heard. "Maybe, I should deprive you of the use of your hands." As punishment. To not be able to reach, to touch, to feel all the glorious textures…. except for what F'yr gifts him with. Normally, that might be a fantastic prospect, because the bronzerider is so routinely generous… but Ru is proddy and he has enough experience with F'yr (albeit outside of the bedroom under these circumstances) to know it's probably an unpredictable moment for the blond.

Is anyone surprised by his ambitiousness (real or feigned)? Ru’ien’s expression shifts as each syllable is toyed with, another pleased hum voiced on the cusp of a breathy exhale. It’s true, it’s not actually that ambitious and the twist is that Ru’ien’s already been losing sleep; he has no work to worry about, because until Kihatsuth takes care of matters, the greenrider is not on full schedule. He couldn’t be and if his workbench was any indication, even his jewelry work suffers from his distracted (fixated) and complicated, state. Oh, but intimacy is certainly on the agenda here with Fear, and Ruin can think of no better way to spend the sleepless hours — no matter what they may end up doing. Why go through proddy fuelled insomnia alone when you got the company of someone so trusted and loved?

And… what’s this? His wrist is snared! Eyes widen a fraction in open surprise, fevered blue gaze snapping to meet F’yr’s and then narrow with an impish, delighted look of intrigue written there. The firmness in which he’s held doesn’t seem to bother him and the racier twist that follows draws a bemused scoff note of breathy laughter and renewed flush to his skin. No resistance is given to being snared into that full body press as Ru’ien’s breath hitches next into a gasp — both for the touch (his midriff is exposed, thanks to his crop top and he’s discovering now how wonderful F’yr feels against him and the shirt) and the NEW thrill of having his arms tugged around behind his back.

He shudders, purposely rolling on the balls of his feet to press helplessly, you see that much closer — or so F’yr can feel him squirm a little, at that murmur. Oh, such terrible punishment! Ru’ien feigns a moment of dismay, mouth drawn into a pout as if readying to plead — and then the facade falls under a low, husky laugh. Tilting his head, sultry and (playfully) arrogant, his wry smirk brokers a myriad of emotions that flit and drift through; he’s amused, aroused, curious and smugly challenging, with just a pinch of unsureness. He’s clearly weighing what F’yr has threatened said, thoughtful even as he seeks to tease with a drag of teeth to tug his lower lip inwards. IS THIS STILL PUNISHMENT?

“Do you plan to hold my wrists the whole time?” he gently taunts in a sighed exhale. “Gonna have to tie them.” Pointedly, Ru’ien’s eyes lower to F’yr’s shorts. Does he have a belt? Does it matter? (it was probably an excuse to look) Whether he does or doesn’t, it only tips into his next playful quip. “If you’re feeling creative,” His voice pauses on the end of ‘feeling’, breathy in heavy suggestiveness on the use of ‘creative’, before he carries on swiftly less they both stumble awkwardly “There’s lots of .. hmm … inspiration, upstairs~” Ru’ien drops his voice again to a sultry purr and leaves it up to F’yr to take his bait offer. In truth, the greenrider is treading into unfamiliar territory; he’s never explored this far but clearly isn’t reserved in taking a blind leap (because this is Fear). He gives a playful tug on the hold of his wrists, to test that grip, while awaiting the bronzerider’s response.

Intrigue is good. Being pushed into for all the greater closeness that causes is better. Given their even heights, it means F'yr has the opportunity to use the tip of his nose and lips and the warm breath with them to trace along the greenrider's jaw teasingly, but he doesn't seek to take greater advantage than he already is; he's mostly preoccupied with capturing the wrists. There's a little amusement that plays across F'yr's lips at all this feigned helplessness, but it's the rest that really seem to draw F'yr in - the arrogance (because, of course, he misses the sultry entirely), the curiosity, the challenge. But, the touch of uncertainty does give him a little pause.

His hands don't release the wrists, but the touch of them there gentle and his thumbs stroke lightly along the soft skin of Ru's inner-wrists. So first, in the wake of all of Ru'ien's words, there comes a moment of sobriety. "I see you, Ruin." Their particular code for 'I love you,' for 'I understand,' for 'you're safe with me.' F'yr will even take that one step further and initiate a kiss, one that takes a little detail from the hot and heady kisses of moments before, to be sweet, to be deep, to be Ruin's Fear, in a very tangible way for all the way he plays at unpredictability when encountering a proddy partner. Still sober are words that need to be said aloud. "I'm not going to hurt you unless you want that." Why would he want that? F'yr does not currently elaborate, but it would seem that this is not something F'yr is lacking in some measure of experience in; he's not a first-timer in general, even if it's never come up with Ru'ien before.

Then, letting his voice color a little exaggeratedly with playfulness so the greenrider can hear the cue for tickling at the game again, "I do have my bootlaces handy." They're by Ru's front door. Is it titillating or a little disturbing that F'yr had that answer ready to hand and didn't have to think about how to improvise? WELL. LISTEN. It's fine. He doesn't address the invitation for finding inspiration upstairs yet, still holding those wrists, but he does let his tone become a touch more even to suggest, "It might be better for us to hold off with something like this until your past proddy, Keruthien. Things… change quickly sometimes." As in, when the queen green of chaos reigns, something that felt SO GOOD the moment before might suddenly feel NO GOOD and F'yr might not be able to change gears quickly enough. "But we could talk about it." How's that for frustrating the proddy horny rider? Maybe Ru won't even get laid tonight! (GASP!)

There is soft voiced encouragement for the use of lips and warm breath over the curve of his jaw, Ru’ien angling his head subtly to allow that access. At the use of their code, his eyes drift open and seek out F’yr’s gaze, his echoed response already whispered past his lips. “I see you too, Fear.” He knows he’s safe with him (for a variety of reasons that aren't all linked to sex) or he’d have postponed their little soiree here in his weyr; his flicker of unsureness may have been for F’yr and not so much himself. It could be both, but who knows? Ru’ien isn’t processing too far, his proddy state making it so hard to focus long when it feels like he’s burning up and aching, overcharged and restless…

… and that kiss is oh-so sweet and deep and perfect to sink into! Which he does, without hesitation, melting into it and against F’yr. It takes him a breath or so longer to regain his focus once the kiss breaks, with the sobered words giving him further pause. Would he want it? He considers it, while his expression turns coy. Has he caught on that it appears F’yr has some measure of experience? If he has, he tucks that tidbit away for later. “Not completely off the table, hmm? I’ll have to remember that,” he keeps his voice hushed, gruffer and deeper. Then he laughs, gaze flicking past F’yr’s shoulder to the entranceway. “Resourceful~” He’ll give him that (and apparently, well into titillating)!

Ru’ien’s brows knit faintly together at the next suggestion offered, lips curving into yet another smirk as he tilts his head back for that arrogant tilt. “After all this and you’re going to make me beg?” he teases but doesn’t seem the least bit put off by the idea (could be a small voice of reason can still reach through)! If there’s frustration, it’s something he holds no control over. As demonstrated when he begins to shift against F’yr, squirming, tugging again at his grip on his wrists. His skin flushes and there is a heated, fever-like brightness to his eyes as they settle into a hooded expression. “We could talk,” he agrees and his next breath is lightly groaned, needy. It toys with the cadence of the words that follow, creating a rise and fall not unlike pleading — but all in good (teasing!) fun. “You could have me at your mercy the whole time, if you wanted? I’d trust you with that — but I need to do something.” Now! How demanding — but is it his or a certain green’s? “Anything, Fear!” The last is delivered in a hoarse whisper, as he draws himself forwards as if to impart secrets.

F'yr's, "No, not off the table," is perhaps more candid than what playful Ru'ien might have been expecting. There's no sense that F'yr is the sort of person who needs those sorts of things to find satisfaction, but he can say what he's said with self-possession and trust enough that he neither feels strange sharing the possibility with his partner, nor the implication that he has enough experience to not be bumbling through; he's probably past beginner mistakes. And yet, for all the playfulness, in general, this topic garners an even look (though it's not without warmth). That said, that understood between them, F'yr will surrender back to the more lighthearted edges presented in the moment.

"Begging sounds like it might be interesting," F'yr's voice is too thoughtful, in the terrible kind of way, though much of his focus is on retaining Ru'ien's hands from this inopportune position given that there's not much difference between one man and the other in height or relative strength for all that F'yr's is worn in more visible lines of bulkier musculature than his still extremely fit partner; this works better when there's a size advantage, but it doesn't stop F'yr from trying. For all that F'yr's playing at unaffected, the proximity does give away that for all his refusal to immediately surrender to the current impulses, he's not without his own growing needs.

And yet, determined to be terrible, the bronzerider suggests, "We could polish the floors? Fold some laundry?" Listen, nevermind that both of those things could easily feed into Ru's texture fetish fixation. He lets it hang for just long enough that the press of his hips in a very suggestive motion, letting there be a wicked amount of slow friction, "Or did you mean something more physical?" Beat. Damn him. "Like running?" He doesn't even like running. He's basically the worst.

It would be an easy enough guess that Ru’ien isn’t the sort who needs those sorts of things either, to find satisfaction; the importance being that they’ve communicated that the possibility is there. For once, F’yr would hold the cards in experience over the greenrider, not that he’d mind in the least in this scenario. He will meet that level look, warmth briefly suffusing the curve of the smile in their silent exchange. Ru’ien scoffs for that too thoughtful reply from F’yr, lips curving into a more impish tilt as his eyes search his features. Terrible, so terrible! It doesn’t stop him from being terrible teasing in turn. He chuckles, low and husky, infusing his voice. “Hold me here long enough and you’ll find out~” True, he could break free if he really put some fight into it! But where’s the fun in that? He’s enjoying this exchange, even if their heights don’t quite give the same effect; it’s that he’s being denied that’s giving the biggest sparks.

And here is where it could backfire! While there’s a grimace for the suggestion of polishing (listen, he doesn’t HAVE polish, it wasn’t on his ‘list’ to pick up), Ru’ien’s features take on an edge of mulling over the second, as though that is a perfectly sound suggestion — with a minor change. “Mhm. It’s been awhile since I organized my wardrobe.” It’s not LAUNDRY, but it’s textiles and he’s finding LOOPHOLES, FEAR! A slanted, wicked grin follows. “Could start with—“ The rest is lost to an abrupt gasp and sharp hitch to his breath as that press of hips and all-too suggestive motion drives all focus out of his head. He groans, caught up in that wicked slow friction and chasing it in the way his hips tilt after him; eager for more. Damn him!

“Where would we—“ Ru’ien’s breathless retort tapers off, as he shudders, body going taught as his back curves; it pushes him into F’yr’s frame again, while his shoulders twist, arms exerting considerable force on the grip around his wrists — it’s not a bid for escape and more of a ripple effect to sudden writhing. His eyes close, as his head drops forwards just enough for some of his hair to slide forwards and obscure part of his face. Deep rolling laughter marks the next stage and his gaze will turn upwards to seek F’yr’s. “Oh,” he sighs, tension bleeding out of him with it. “I just had the most wonderful mental picture,” How odd, those words. That phrase? “Of some frolicking under the moons. I got the space out back that would be perfect!” That’s not a lie and maybe it was just the thought of warm summer air and grass beneath his bare feet and a good chase dance outside with Fear that did it.

F'yr patiently waits it all out, expression frustratingly becoming difficult to read between one thing and another. It might be because he was able to surprise the greenrider that he's able to tame the response his face wants to make to all he's provoked. He keeps it remarkably cool, fading to bland as he questions, quite as if this is baffling, "What is it about me that makes you think frolic is something I even know how to do?" He adds to the effect (perhaps too much, perhaps giving himself more away than just the bland does) by lifting an imperious brow at Ru'ien; it's a look he must be copying from some very stuffy Holder he's had to deal with during his tenure with Quasar. NEVERMIND that his list of 'his people' is basically a guarantee that this man can, has, does, and would frolic under the right conditions. Are these them? That's another question entirely.

They might be, but that would mean giving in, which he is not immediately inclined to do. Besides, something else needs to be further frustrated denied first. "Don't think for half a moment, Ruin, that I don't know exactly how a visit to your wardrobe would go. I have sisters, you know. I'll be stuck there staring at piece of cloth after piece of cloth struggling to tell the difference between one or another and getting in trouble for saying, 'Yes, it looks nice,' over and over again." OKAY, LISTEN, F'YR BB, that is not how it would go. So maybe later Ru'ien should educate him on how that goes when you have non-fraternal feelings about the person doing the modeling. But here is one moment where F'yr's inexperience with relationships of that ilk comes to light. Maybe he'll need to be convinced about the frolicking, although he didn't outright refuse that one.

Oh, it is frustrating … to a certain green who is trying to set a stage here and eavesdropping through her rider! Ru’ien can normally play into it, but tonight there is a small hiccup where the playful frustration is no longer wholly his own. Can F’yr spot the differences in the way his passing scowl settles in a way that is and isn’t quite right? Or in the narrowing of his eyes, the thinning line of his lips as they press together in a haughty grimness — and then it’s gone. Replaced instead by his familiar smirk, all earlier expressions wiped clean as though he simply waved a hand (… not unlike a certain queen green of chaotic persuasions)~

“Come on, Fear!” he sighs, half exasperated whine and plea, all pitched in a teasing tone under that imperious look given from the bronzerider. THAT earns a pout! don’t think he buys this for a second, just ignore the little fit he almost had “You’re never this stuffy! Who cares if you know how? Doesn’t it sound the teensiest bit enticing?” He goes on to plead push his case, tripping up again with impatience now lacing his otherwise husky tone. There's an impertinent tug on his grip around his wrists too, if F'yr hasn't let him go. Ru'ien may even be bold enough to try and throw his weight around — who said he can't try to lead the bronzerider out of the kitchenette, "bound" wrists or not? It'll require some twisting and squirming on the greenrider's part and probably not an entirely comfortable angle in the end, determined to move (he warned him!).

It comes to a stop, as F’yr’s inexperience comes abruptly into the light and Ru’ien’s facade falters for a third time — only in this instance, it’s to just stare incredulously at him for several long seconds. He blinks, then blinks again and the spell is broken by laughter; laughter he tries to control and stop, fails miserably and just ends up dissolving into fits of it. Full head tilted back, deep rolling laughter that, at some point, nearly produces tears (or maybe he really is shedding a few for LOST OPPORTUNITIES). By the time it tapers off, he’s subdued himself to low throated chuckling. He can’t help it and it’s certainly not F’yr’s fault and Ru’ien isn’t laughing AT him and more just the moment and whatever random spark that triggered some personal amusement — and he’s not exactly himself, either. There’s at least an attempt to cast a decently apologetic look his way (but is he really that sorry?), while in the throes of giggling and 'escape' currently waylaid.

The scowl does cause a reciprocal hiccup in F'yr, because his aim is to stymie, but not to the point of crossing some line. This would, of course, be different were Ru'ien not Ru'ien, where his attempts to not end up in some other proddy rider's good graces don't know the meaning of the word 'boundary' except the very obvious ones that he'd never cross in any case. But the moment passes, perhaps with the bronzerider having seen a different quality to Ru's expression - one he's seen before and only when he's proddy. It's not, of course, the first time he's teased the poor greenrider. Kiha, he has no qualms about tweaking. She likes it~~ OR, if not, it's not like it's likely that he'd know if it counts for or against him in the impending flight what with the her adoration for chaos, never more apparent than when she subsumes her rider.

"That's not strictly true," F'yr returns of the accusation that he's never this stuffy, because here he is, pretending to be exactly this stuffy, but whatever more he might have said there, is delayed for the rest of what Ru'ien says, in the distraction of trying to hold those wrists in the face of broader use of the smith's strength. In fact, F'yr will let go of the wrists and just grab Ru's ass to keep him planted up close and personal for the rest of the moment. It means all that laughter has a natural fricative effect where their bodies are joined, one which leaves F'yr's forehead on Ru'ien's shoulder and breathing just a little hard. WHO SAYS LAUGHTER IN THE BEDROOM IS A BAD THING~~? Not Ruin and Fear, as they've actually discussed before. There's a little groan from F'yr as his head comes up and he seizes the greenrider's lips in a kiss. "Come on then." He wins, for now. F'yr will go, F'yr will frolic F'yr will laugh and delight with the greenrider for as long as his partner needs— or until his own energy falters.

Ru’ien won’t complain about having his wrists released in favour for an ass grab, instead. It brings a startled grunted amidst his laughter, all too eager to be kept planted so closely despite trying to “escape” just moments before. The fricative effect isn’t lost and that will have him pressing back into F’yr, laughter having tapered now to a low hum of pleasure; aided further by the kiss seized from him. He’ll gratefully return it, shivering lightly over the rekindling of touch and proximity; there’s more to it, too, flaring up under that spark to a body already so overheated.

He wins! And Ru’ien doesn’t waste time in claiming his victory, grabbing F’yr’s hand and hauling them both out the door with a renewed crow of laughter (again, not wholly his); of course, there’s an impatient delay if the bronzerider insists on putting on his shoes. Ru’ien plans to remain completely barefoot! Is that any surprise? Or that there seems to be a shift in him, something electric and different in every movement and expression. He will lead F’yr down to the open spaces below, head tilted up to welcome the night breeze; his steps even take on a nature of their own, a sway of hips and sauntering gait. Is this his idea of frolicking? Or will it come later, once they’re in the grass and his focus goes from starry sky to F’yr with a feverish intensity, an invitation for the bronzerider to join him (if he hasn’t already).

Do they ever get the chance to “frolic” much? Plans can change and Ru’ien’s at the whims of chaotic elements and a chaotic-inclined green. Kihatsuth feels that now is the time to unveil her latest scheme — which is to rise ahead of schedule. Caught off guard, Ru’ien will abruptly tense and go still, a strangled sort of curse mixed in with a choked: “She’s early!” being all he manages to coherently voice. Skyward goes his gaze, shock mixed with elation that is not his, ‘sensing’ rather than seeing the exodus unfold after an artful display of carnage among the feeding pens. Then the tension bleeds from his frame, his posture adopting a haughty edge that is more Kiha than anything — it's in the throaty laughter that bubbles up and the way he grins. His eyes close as his head tips down, rolling a little with his shoulders as she assumes control; F’yr has probably witnessed some of this before with previous flights, though usually Ru’ien’s already long succumbed to her.

When his gaze opens again, hooded and narrowed, his head turns to the shadow-choked pathways into the forests. For a beat or two, his shifting frame hints at the desire to run into that darkness but just as one foot lifts, the movement stalls. Instead, fingers run deep and hard through his hair, while an internal struggle takes place. Ru’ien wins again, for a small breadth of time. Just enough, to turn to F’yr with a look of need, desire and want, that is all him: Ru’ien, Ruin and Ruthien to the very core. Whether it’s F’yr who speaks up first to offer choice in that small window of lucidness or not, Ru’ien’s hand drops and extends outwards for the bronzerider to take — HIS choice evidently clear. His grip is vice-like in firmness and there’s no hesitation; he will lead them back, not to a reckless charge to darkness but up instead into the lit sanctuary of the weyr above them.

Up that other flight of stairs (mercifully shorter), past the small nook of space for a more private sitting area and then the loft bedroom itself. The very space he'd meant to slowly introduce, but LISTEN, things don't always work out as one expects~ At least it isn't messy and the bed is right there (if they even make it that far)! Whatever may take place then is the precursor to the main event far away and high above; a main event with an ending that sees Kihatsuth almost snared by a blue, but he balks at the flash of her overlong talons at the worst crucial moment. She lashes out in disgust and fury, aiming to twist away despite her exhaustion and ohso happens to put herself right into her dear brother's path! Isn't it just Glorioth's lucky day night? Kihatsuth's choice words, however colorfully descriptive in their taunting threats, are false-temper; really, she's as pleased with this outcome (the bronze won't shy from her — and her talons? The nerve of that blue. SO UNWORTHY! Sniff.).

Winning, in this case, is all it's cracked up to be. F'yr is willing partner in crime in fun and comes along behind Ru'ien, less hauled after he gets his feet under him than led like it might already be a frolic, already a dance. He does jerk his hand out of Ru'ien's just at the door, pausing to lean on its frame and tug off his socks to drop them in the vicinity of abandoned boots, before angling down the ramp to catch up with the greenrider. He moves readily to join Ru'ien, actually not bad at this whole frolicking and dancing thing Thanks, Risa!, nothing held back, but following Ruin's lead. He trips into the caught off guard greenrider, though, as he looks skyward, wrapping his arms around the man so neither lose their balance in the unexpected moment (chaos that is surely pleasing, right?). He backs off almost immediately though, but not out of any wish to be far removed from the man he faces, but rather out of deference to that dominating personality that might not appreciate so premature a catch~~ Albeit one wholly lacking in satisfying impalements.

Brows start to furrow as he watches his lover, sees that change that, yes, he's seen before, though never in such a private show. It's not something he's likely to ever forget, so if Kiha wants to play tricks in the future, she'll have to up her game. When the dragon-claimed man tenses, so does F'yr, but because if she/he/they run, so will he. This may be simply because he doesn't want the greenrider ending up lost somewhere alone. And then there's Ru'ien, there, in himself again, at the fore. His mouth is opening when the man offers his hand and there is no hesitation in answer, apparently already of one mind.

F'yr is a man who knows how to hustle; he wouldn't have survived with Glorioth as a lifemate if he did not know how and when to bust ass to get to where he's most needed. In this case, Ru'ien is caught up in that surge of surety that where they need to be is not here. Had the greenrider headed toward a path, toward the guest weyr at the edge of the feeding grounds, F'yr would have gone, doubtless, but he's here and committed to seeing Ruin through in a way new but not entirely foreign to him. It's not like Glori needs him when there's a loss, anyway. Despite not being familiar with this new space, he doesn't hesitate to follow Ru'ien's lead. One hand is already working at the buttons of his shirt. Even if he doesn't mean to dive into things prematurely, he can at least preserve his clothes this time. By the time of the catch, greenrider willing though, there's not clothes to cope with, and no distance to go because they'll already be on the bed. Glorioth actually emerging victorious (AS HE NEVER DOUBTED HE WOULD DEFINITELY DO, GIVEN HIS OBVIOUS SUPERIOR SUPERIORITY AND VIRILE STABBING ABILITIES) is just icing on the cake.

This is new ‘territory’ for Ru’ien too and where his attentions would normally be divided among the gathering riders, all of it is turned to F’yr instead. His control would have lapsed by increments and by the time they reached the loft, he would be mostly swept up in Kiha’s influence again. There may have been commentary and considerable amounts of playful teasing and goading; it won’t be an immediate leap to the bed, another sort of ‘dance’ between them that grows increasingly more heated and intimate based on the reaction and responses. Ru’ien will be more than willing help F’yr shed those clothes and then his own (with the bronzerider’s help, if he so obliges); any excuse for further touch and then closing what little distance there is between them as they finally tumble onto the bed.

It allows them to approach the eventual end result of the flight at a pace they so choose. Ru’ien will, as always, respond in tandem with the level of give and take; his eagerness is high this night, any roughness bleeding in from the earlier games between them. Ru’ien will see it through to their mutual satisfaction if left to it, even as Kihatsuth is caught (that only adds a new layer to everything).

There are reasons Glorioth is favored in Kiha's flights. It's not just for his awesome— … technique. F'yr can, when he puts his mind to it, make for an amusing partner for the haughty-playful-teasing green. She wants to be chased in Ru'ien's body? He'll chase. Mentally, more than physically, to be sure in this place below while events unfold above. He'll challenge her in turn, but carefully, not, here, now wanting to turn her temper from titillated to tempestuous she can do that all on her own if it pleases her; it won't dissuade him.

F'yr can be persuaded to do one good turn for the other where clothing is concerned and once on the bed, with the flight far from over, he will play, more, more rough, more physical games, not worried for bruises nor bite marks nor whatever else might come from this evening spent together. In truth, he already has some because GLORIOTH IS NOT AT ALL SORRY THAT HE HAS BEEN PROVING HIS VIRILITY ACROSS TWO WEYRS THIS SEVEN. No reason for KihaRu not to add their own (or out-do them).

When it comes time for Ru to make good on his ambition, the bronzerider's squint is more an indication that this is not how he had translated those words, and perhaps the snort and smirk (YES, SMIRK, ON F'YR'S PLACE) will be enough to tip them into a pleasant heated scuffle before F'yr gives in to pre-catch passions— not that he'll be a terribly cooperative conquest. Once Kihatsuth is caught, it's a whole other struggle. If nothing else, there's a guarantee they will both be sore and satisfied when all is said and done.

Speaking of done, by the time they're that, F'yr's breath is gusting against the smith's shoulder, unsteady in the rhythm. Give him a minute… five, and F'yr will rouse himself beyond just tipping his face so his forehead rests on a shoulder and shift enough to help the greenrider shift position, to get to where he can lean in to claim a kiss so much softer, so much more sweetly erotic than anything that can be shared in a flight where Glorioth is involved. "Okay?" He asks as he withdraws enough see each other clearly.

KIHA? Playing favorites!? How dare — okay, so she does have her reasons (and she’ll let Glorioth assume it’s for his renowned virility) for weighing chaos in her favour based on the whims of her current interests. Oh and how F’yr does not disappoint (either of them)! Rough play is met with equal vigour; there will be bruises matched for bruises, love-bites and even marks where fingers curled and dragged hard against the skin. KihaRu leave their own signature, among what may already be present on him. The thresholds for sore and satisfied are met without question and likewise, Ru’ien is recovering yet from the intensity of ending beneath the bronzerider. Light shivers follow the gust of breath to his shoulder, then the shift and brush to skin as they move. He tilts into the much softer kiss, a sweet note hummed low in his throat.

Ru’ien’s eyes are slow to drift open and even when they do, they remain heavy. Is he okay? His posture is as relaxed as one can be and still be somewhat upright — even so, he’s likely already sinking back towards the bed (or more preferably, against F’yr in any increment). There’s a groan, a breathy sigh and chuckle, as he takes inventory with tiny movements and barely-focused awareness to whatever may be protesting with a dull ache or mild burn. Does a thumbs up count, F’yr? Ru’ien seriously considers doing it and leaving it at that! Instead, he uses his hand to push back at some of his hair. “I’m okay. Going to feel it later.” But that too is okay (the amused edge to his gruff tone says so) and a future-Ru’ien’s problem. His eyes are threatening to close, drowsily content and keen to bask for a few minutes, but after a lapse of a few (slower) breaths, they open to seek out his lover. “You okay?”

They may have to take each other's words for it, on the assessment of visual damage — the loft isn’t lit by any light save for what comes up from the floor below or through the large window just above the headboard. It's just enough to see each other and perhaps the hint of some marks; enough, perhaps, to satisfy for now. Lighting is available, but that would require too much thought and movement currently for Ru’ien. Eventually, there will be a chance to better glimpse this private space, the greenrider’s very sanctuary (albeit likely underwhelming and small for such a large personality, but that may yet be revealed in the details).

A man who's inclined to leave off any other part of the sentence but 'okay' is probably the sort to take a thumbs up, honestly, but since none is offered, he'll take the words. He'll also take the cozy greenrider settling into him, shifting and shifting until he's a comfortable place to snuggle up. Normally, F'yr is pretty awake after flights, but maybe because of the unprecedented circumstances and choices surrounding this one (or just whatever F'yr's day entailed before he got to Ru's), now, F'yr seems all but barely awake. "Mmhm," is about all he can muster to answer the greenrider's inquiry. "Sleepy," is kind of too adorable coming from him as he sort of snugs Ru in with his arms, evidently about to fall right to sleep. Surely things like getting cleaned up or finding some water can wait for a little while, right? The tour can definitely wait.

The chance to sleep, then and now, is not one to be passed up. Ru’ien will shift and adjust until that level of comfortable is met for both of them; he doesn’t spare any inch of space, his body curving to snuggle right up. It really is adorable coming from F’yr and he gives a contented hum as he’s snugged by those arms, tilting his head to firmly nuzzle under the curve of his jaw. If he had the energy, he would steal another kiss but settles to brush his lips along what he can reach; it’s a loving, intimate gesture, with plenty left unspoken. At the heart of it is the mutual agreement: sleep. Priorities! Ru’ien will settle then, one hand still idly moving in aimless gentle strokes until even that gradually stops.

How long do they sleep? Ru’ien might have been hoping for a full stretch, but he’s abruptly pulled from that restful bliss; it sees him rousing, stifling a groan of protest to a quieter form as he reluctantly blinks his eyes open in the semi-darkness. It’s some unknown hour of night, which doesn’t register as much as one oh-so familiar sharing his bed. Lingering sleepiness is chased off by the sudden influx of emotions, a rush so complex that Ru’ien can’t even pinpoint one from the other — it just is and it’s strong enough that he can’t fight against the current. He tries to lay there, hoping to doze off again but the effort is in vain. Eventually he will roll onto his back (still curved into F’yr, because some contact is better than none), aware of twinges of mild stiffness and dull aches, but those are ignored for now, while he exhales heavily, lifting hands to scrub over his face. If he’s accidentally woken F’yr, there will be swift apology and reassurance both in a quick kiss to brow, cheek or lips (or all of the above) but he won’t linger long. Shortly thereafter, he’s gingerly (for many reasons) slipping from the bed but it’s slow going enough that he could be stopped. maybe he’s more tender than he lets on

It might seem at first that F'yr, though he didn't quite sleep through it, wasn't awake enough to really register whatever it was that woke Ru'ien. It could be imagined, for some moments, that F'yr was sufficiently reassured by kiss(es) and apology because he did, certainly, appear to go back to sleep. But the sound of heavy footfalls, and a swear in F'yr's unmistakable voice, if rather scratchy from sleep and sex, are probably enough to clue the greenrider in to the fact that the bronzerider must have had a delayed reaction to cluing in that something was up, if not necessarily 'wrong.' Either way F'yr rather trips into Ru'ien in the relative dark, hands going flatteringly all over him as the blond steadies himself and maybe also pulls the greenrider toward him for an embrace. "Hey," is still sleepy, but awake enough. "You okay?" Maybe Ru just needed to get up to piss! F'yr realizes this could certainly be the case and if he's going to make to break the hold of those arms, he'll be let to go, of course, but there's worry enough in the man's tone that he seems to have picked up on— well, some part of this whole thing enough to be bothered.

A small yelp gives way to chuckled amusement, as Ru’ien leans towards those flattering hands; even when a few bruised or tender spots are glanced and bring a slight hitch to his breath. There and gone, as he steps into an embrace. He does need to piss, but those needs can take a back burner for a few more minutes. “Hey,” he murmurs back, voice thick and gruff, hushed in the semi-dark and an unseen, but very-much-there smirk. “I’m alright.” Not a full lie; he is largely just fine (more than ‘fine’, great is more like it)! There is something else lurking there, unsaid but carrying the weight of someone still processing over just what “it” is. And maybe a hint that he’s getting there, but he can’t won’t touch on it fully out loud just yet. In true Ru’ien fashion, there’s so much more positive to focus on and he’s determined (stubborn) to cling to it.

His embrace on F’yr tightens for a beat, then two and then his posture relaxes. “Hold on. You might wanna watch your eyes…” That brings a faint tinge of amusement, as there’s nothing here to truly scar either of them; he’s just reaching for the lights. Ru’ien may also try and place a shielding hand for the bronzerider too, because he’s sweet like that (it’s totally him joking around). The lighting up here isn’t exactly bright but more a soft warmth and a pleasant enough atmosphere.

Blinking as his eyes adjust, he’ll flash a broad smile, suffused equally between warmth and loving, to F’yr and takes a half step back with hands trailing appreciatively before falling away to his sides. His gaze follows too, taking a shameless once over look before he gathers his thoughts back on track. Lightly teasing and apologetic in tone, around the burr in his voice, “Well, since we’re both up, how about some drinks?” Is he suggesting water or alcohol (it’s both). “I was going to get some, after cleaning up.” Vaguely a hand waves to the lower floor and the bathroom to the back, but also flicks towards the bed in afterthought.

The very bed, which takes up most of the space in the loft, low frame cleverly designed in curves of Art Nouveau incline with Pernese twists. In fact, much of the loft is clever in the use of its limit in size; the shelving is custom built, some open and some hidden behind flush panels. The ‘nook’ by the stairs, which Ru’ien is lazily drifting towards, holds a trifold vanity with similar designs (where did he find that?). He’ll pause by the centre mirror to take an appraising look over his own body, hands brushing along skin, marked and unmarked. He gives F’yr a coy, smug, look back over his shoulder, before reaching to delicately slide a nearby panel open. Two robes are procured, thin and silky (of course), both of which are meant to hang loosely on the body — or his, anyways. It might actually FIT on F’yr! One is tossed to him, if he’s inclined and Ru’ien will slip into the other, already sidestepping further to the stairs (and maybe eyeing them with an inward curse).

The subtleties of Ru'ien's response might be lost of F'yr, given the muzzy way he, "Mmkay,"s into the greenrider's hair-slash-neck-slash-shoulder. Even if this embrace started as F'yr steadying them and providing some comfort, it's sort of ending with Ru'ien as upright pillow. As such when Ru'ien makes playful move to shield his eyes, he leans into it, letting him, not really questioning or giving any push-back playful or otherwise. This might be a different Fear than Ruin has had occasion to see before, but it probably doesn't have to do with being here, versus there, just so sleepy with a partner, versus not. Sleepy sex has been a thing, or sleepy snuggles, but not really this sleepy quiescence.

If Ru wants to be roused enough to joke around, well, more power to him, clearly F'yr is not up to that fighting weight as he makes a groggy noise of complaint about the light and the vanishing of his upright pillow, but scrubbing a hand across his face, he'll manage a yawning, "Yes," to drinks, "And a piss, " because F'yr is ROMANTIC, OKAY, don't try and tell him he's not for not using a pretty euphemism (like "cleaning up" for example). But then, they did spend an awful long time living together in weyrlinghood and candidacy, so at least it's not like it comes as any surprise that they both have natural bodily needs.

He misses the toss (and the coy, smug look, sorry), though too slow reflexes reach for it. Maybe he's not on the ball upon waking because Ru'ien is significantly safer to leave with self-determination than Glorioth, so there's no urgency to being wakefully competent. He bends to retrieve and pull it on without complaint. Honestly, he probably hasn't noticed the fabric or the color or— well, it's just not his strong suit, but he sure makes it look good, so maybe none of that matters in the end. He'll follow Ru's lead with sleep-stiff wobbles and barely open eyes, just enough to not be a walking accident. He'll have to actually see the loft later; third try's the charm?

Ru’ien is likely amused in his own way over how F’yr’s reactions are so deeply mired by sleep. Does he feel a little bad, turning on those lights? maybe not It’s certainly different, but just one more kind to chalk up to a whole evening of different. He rolls with it, as he usually does with anything in life, unapologetic (for the most part) in action. LISTEN, ROMANTIC is not a necessary check-box, here! And Ru’ien likes his pretty euphemisms when they’re handy~

He utters a choked scoff when the bronzerider misses the catch, struggling and failing not to dissolve into a snickered fit of laughter. Reaching to take his hand, Ru’ien will lead the way down the stairs in more confident steps and just the occasional stiff look to his movements. “Come on, then. You first~” he mutters with that smirk still in place, letting go of F’yr’s hand once on the main floor. He takes the few steps necessary, but hangs back while gesturing — off you go! Not that Ru’ien cares if the decision sees them both there; he can get some cloths and whatnot sorted in the interim from the outer cupboards.

Once that’s all out of the way, Ru’ien will largely leave F’yr to stumble wander off back up to the loft if he so desires. Lights will be turned off along the way, leaving only the immediate space and the loft above illuminated. He wouldn’t object to his continued company in the kitchenette, but wouldn't fault the bronzerider for wanting to go back to bed. Glasses will be procured and filled with water, while he also tucks a bottle of a deep amber-coloured liquor under his arm. Is it a bad idea to carry so much up at once? Probably. BUT WHY MAKE IT EASY ON HIMSELF?

On other occasions, F'yr might be inclined to have a verbal dance around, 'no, after you,' but tonight he just goes when Ru tells him to, all the sooner to finish and free it up for the greenrider, unless he joins him, which wouldn't strike the once farmer as unusual or upsetting. What's important here is that bodily needs get met all around and F'yr does not go stumbling off, although he does go to lean in the doorway where he lingered catlike earlier, this time to lean a shoulder against the outside of the frame and watch Ru move about. He doesn't try to strike up conversation, but there is a gradual wakefulness coming to the bronzerider the longer he stays on his feet and when he has his too-full armloads, F'yr is there to relieve him of whatever he wants to hand off and help carry it back, without need for verbal negotiations.

It isn't until after they get resettled, with drinks, water for sure for F'yr, but he won't say no to the amber-colored liquor after that. "Do you want to talk?" It's kept general on purpose. It is an invitation for that— whatever it was that woke the greenrider, but not any kind of demand. It would be just as easy to take the simple five words as a yes or no without a need to pick a topic. If yes, perhaps F'yr will come up with something to talk about if Ru'ien isn't feeling inspired but wants the distraction.

Ru’ien won’t protest F’yr relieving him of one of the glasses and his expression holds a clear cut look of unspoken gratefulness. With the trek up the stairs less precarious and slowed from tender cautious movements, he’ll waste little time in resettling. The last delay is switching the lighting to softer bedside ones, rather than the whole space; a sign that the greenrider is hoping neither of them see a need to get out of that bed a second time that night (or what remains of it).

At some point, he’s shed that robe and water polished off without hesitation and a touch of impatience — once emptied, Ru’ien is deftly uncorking the bottle and refilling the same glass. The same is done for F’yr’s, if given the go ahead after tilting the bottle in silent inquiry to the bronzerider. Setting it aside, he’ll settle back onto the bed, propped up by pillows and in the way he curves his body to lean into F’yr.

“I do want to talk.” Ru’ien is never quite that direct and not even a beat later, his facade of sobered tone is undone by the curve of a smirk over the rim of his glass. Listen, he’s (jokingly) being an ass, clearly withholding on immediately elaborating. It’s the sidelong look directed to F’yr, both teasing and questioning, that is the bronzerider’s cue; the choice on how he responds is left to him, with zero expectations either way. Even if the bait isn’t taken, Ru’ien will relent … eventually.

F'yr's robe still clings to the muscles that fill it out, though it's not as though he's seemed much to register it's presence - and never having actually closed it, it's really more like a draping than a real garment. He still hasn't taken a moment to look at the room, not even really awake until the water is down and he's starting on the other after it's been poured for him, the subtle lift of lower lip enough to intimate in bro-speech 'go ahead,' or something similar.

It's possible, given the bronzerider's apparent mental acuity, that it doesn't even occur to him that to say, "About what woke you or anything else?" is turning the question back on Ru'ien. Is a game still fun if one of the players isn't up to the first's weight class? Well, maybe. In any case, the 'or anything else' probably isn't asking for a specific topic, but rather, is it the first or is it anything but the first? At those last words, though, he's finally looking around, maybe expecting the loft's contents to offer some inspiration for what 'anything else' he might offer up if that's the way the greenrider responds. If nothing else, the question will show the bronzerider is willing to go whatever way suits his partner.

Texture fixation now abated (to a very tolerable distant hum), Ru’ien’s enjoying the view of the way the robe drapes on F’yr’s body — it’s a pleasant distraction, but not enough to allow him to drift too far out of present reality. that’s what the alcohol is for It may not have been an intention deflection, but the turn of question back to him draws quiet, amused, laughter. “Mhm, yes~” he muses over the rim of his glass, licking at his lower lip as he swallows. His gaze has a sleepy look, his features relaxed as he leans more into F’yr, allowing his body to curve and stretch out.

“About that.” What woke him up. “Kiha likes to completely overwhelm me at the end, after wearing me down. Near full strip down, all barriers just—“ Poof! He mimes the effect with a spread of his fingers (and a cautious movement of the hand holding the glass). “Gone! Normally not an issue.” With other winners, with strangers in the bed with him. “I’m not in a hurry with you, to put something up in place.” A mask, any mask. “So when I woke up — I actually have no idea why, because I am fucking exhausted and would have looooved to have slept for an entire day…” There’s a sheepish grin, a little refresher from his glass and then he’s pulling himself out of the tangent. ANYWAYS~

“I woke up and I realized I could, y’know… relax and not worry? And instead I just got caught up by everything.” Oops? His shoulders shrug. “So I don’t really know if there’s an issue or if I’m just…” Having a moment. Taking a moment. Ru’ien exhales into a low chuckle, letting the rest go unsaid but not in a dismissive way; he’s tilted his gaze so as to look at his lover and partner. If he’s noticed F’yr taking in the ‘view’ of the loft, he doesn’t comment on it beyond a wry and encouraging smile. There isn’t much to see, really, beyond the obvious furniture and the few shelves containing some curio items of no rhyme or reason except to their owner. Two items might stand out: a sheathed decorative-style knife and a small elegantly carved music box. The oddity is is they do not take a centre position and almost disappear, as if they have sentimental value but not enough to be put proudly on display.

F'yr stretches in the wake of Ru'ien's words, to find a place to put his not yet empty glass down because he needs both hands to gather Ruin against him, into the safety of his embrace. Maybe the greenrider doesn't need it, but maybe F'yr needs to give this contact. "That sounds…" It's probably hard to come up with the right word right now for several reasons - the hour, the relatively little sleep, the slow movements of his brain, the fact that his relationship with Glorioth is Quite Different than Ru's with Kiha. In the end he lets it hang with an apologetic frown.

Maybe it's made up for by the way he moves an arm so he can stroke a hand along the frame of Ru's face. "I'm glad you know you can, Keruthien. You're safe." Here, with him, "Whatever you need to feel," he adds, hoping that fragment will explain better that statement that he didn't really need to offer because duh, F'yr Ru'ien already knows. "You can be just." Just whatever. Just having a moment. Just taking a moment. "No rush to not be whatever you are in this moment." It's not like F'yr is running. He's here, he's listening. Maybe he doesn't know what to ask or how to prompt; clearly he's not looking at the loft anymore and maybe curiosities will be addressed later, but for now, this is the most important.

He does think to ask, "Anything you'd like me to do? Need me to do?" It's less dutiful after care of the intense evening motivating the question, although surely some part of it is that to, but from a place of love, not duty, but rather that he wants to do the right things here, but isn't quite sure what those might be and maybe Ru can guide him. Maybe not. He wouldn't hold it against his lover for him not to know. There's a pause where he murmurs a thoughtful, "I wonder if it's a little like what happens to some people after being dominated." Look, he knows the words! Some of the words. LISTEN, he's working with what he's got. It's a tangent. A half-formed thought, but with invitation, he might be able to follow that somewhere useful. Then again … maybe not.

Needed? Yes. Expected? Not at all. The embrace is welcomed with amused warmth and willingness to fold his body in closer. That glass is similarly extended outward to join where F’yr’s has been set aside. No push for that unspoken thought to be finished, lips brushing against the edge of that hand once it has framed his face. His mouth curves into a broad, lopsided smile — he knows, but it’s nice to hear it said. ‘Thank you’ is mouthed soundlessly around a breathy chuckle.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve felt remotely safe with anyone,” he reflects in the next breath, seemingly casual in manner and at odds with the solemn turn of discussion. “Didn’t think I’d ever get to feel it again, y’know? Or if I’d remember how.” Ru’ien’s shoulders lift in the barest of shrugs, as though it’s not that important (but it is, isn’t it, in a way?) and content to let it slide for favour towards other topics. Reflected in the way his mood shifts, amusement rekindled with a huff of light laughter. “You’ve done plenty, Fear.” he muses, head tilting up to nuzzle fondly, where he will feel, rather than glimpse, the entirety of a more mischievous smirk. “Or do I get to call in that offer later?” LISTEN, his voice suggests much in the way it lowers, but his muffled snickering leans it towards only a half-serious thing.

F’yr has nothing to worry so far, as even without guidance, he has offered everything Ru’ien has needed in those present moments. It could be that his nature makes it harder to hit off mark. “What do you mean?” Propping himself up on one arm, he leans to rest almost chest to chest with him for that thoughtful prompt. He tilts his head, gaze seeking his lover's, while his unbound (and still very tussled, he should brush it) hair sliding forwards over one shoulder and partially framing his face (and tickling any exposed skin). DO TELL, F’yr~ Look how sweetly (falsely) innocently he looks, as though too naive to understand what he’s getting at!

Ru can play it off as if it's not important all he wants. That doesn't stop it from arresting F'yr. Blue eyes seek blue, searching and then he shifts to press a lingering kiss to his lover's forehead. He doesn't have words, but hopefully the moment of closeness will explain his feeling. At least the arresting took long enough that Ru could get all the rest out and he's only bestowing the moment that isn't rushed by the bronzerider after it's all been said. There's silence another beat, like he might be looking for words that still prove elusive, and he just shrugs, addressing something he does have words for. "You can call it in whenever I'm free." He doesn't mind owing Ru'ien. But then, F'yr has never been known to make good deals.

The rest has him reaching to stroke through that hair in need of brushing, careful with his fingers not to snag on knots if he can help it. "I meant with Kiha," he starts, maybe clarifying just in case it wasn't. "Seems like, when you're playing some of the bedroom games," not 'you'=Ru, but the general 'you,' "that when you've been trusting someone with your whole self, or letting yourself be … I don't know, in their power I guess," maybe he's never needed to articulate these things? "But it seems…" He trails off, searching, "After, sometimes it helps to be held. Sometimes it helps to just be reassured your safe because the experience of it has been intense and outside of your control." He squints at nothing before deciding he's satisfied with that explanation and bringing his eyes back to Ru's.

It’s likely that Ru’ien was unaware of the impact those words would carry or, at the very least, did not intend for them to be so arresting. His gaze will meet F’yr’s, a silent inquiry beneath the steady hold. Eyes that drift closed for the lingering kiss to his forehead, as he hums quiet and low in his throat; if he hasn’t grasped the whole of the emotions, he’s caught enough. He won’t press F’yr now, leaving the bronzerider to decide on his own whether to come back to it; Ru’ien won’t evade, if he does. “Wonderful.” he purrs, half-teasing, for their agreement. Was it a bad deal? maybe

He doesn’t mind when F’yr strokes his fingers through his hair, going as far as to settle his head down against his chest — angled, just-so, for their comfort and easier access. There’s a low huff at the clarification, Ru’ien incriminating himself that he’d begun to assume wrong but remains just as intrigued. He listens, another thoughtful hum being the only disruption while F’yr trails off in search of a clearer explanation. Sensing his gaze, Ru’ien tilts his head back just enough to glimpse his in turn. “You’re not wrong,” he murmurs, blinking as his brows knit together and his gaze lowers, thoughtful. He snuggles in tighter against F’yr, whether unrelated or not. “At least, it feels … right?” Close enough. Silence drifts, while he reflects on it (for once) — a moment ruined, predictably, by Ru’ien.

Again, his broad and mischievous smirk is felt rather then fully seen, as he turns to press his face more into F’yr’s chest; the brush of lips may be a form of apology. “So,” he breathes, tilting his head just enough to look up at his lover, even if his chin still rests against him. His smirk now becomes a near-grin. “Is now the time to ask just how you know more about something I’ve hardly scraped the surface on?” It’s teasing, light fun with no real pressure from him for any form of answer. He’s even so kind as to give F’yr an ‘out’, delivered with a low chuckle. “Or is it all just a lucky guess?”

F'yr isn't about to judge what is right or wrong for Ru'ien, but there's a touch of a smile on his lips and a gentle squeeze of the arm that's still around his partner to perhaps convey that he's glad to have offered something that might be of help, making sense of it. If there's a moment that's been ruined by Ruin, Fear is F'yrfully unaware. His hand continues to drift through Ru's hair, nothing but affection and him-ness here, really, which might also mean safety and, in things like this, a lack of judgment.

There's a rumbled sound of amusement that vibrates in the chest Ru's chin leans on, lips curling slightly, silent laugh briefly huffed through his lips in answer to that grin. "I don't think it's very difficult to come to the right conclusion." Fingers trap a tress and give a little (non-painful) tug. "I was taught. And inspired to learn." This might mean that the native taste for that variety of bedroom game is not F'yr's, but logically, one of his people's. Surely F'yr is not about to name names for those sorts of preferences, even if it will leave Ru with the job of riddling it out on his own, if it's important to him.

"We can try it if you like. It can be fun," so maybe he's developed some tastes in it, "but it's not something I need," which is to say he wouldn't be disappointed if it simply weren't Ru'ien's thing. Even if F'yr had wanted to take an out (which he kind of did, if anyone was paying attention, saying only what he was comfortable saying and redirecting the focus back to the us here in this bed), it would not involve lying so blatantly, especially not in these moments of safety and trust.

While F’yr continues to drift his hand through his hair, he won't struggle against closing his eyes for a spell. It’s calming but he is spared slipping too far into a doze at that rumbled sound of amusement from the bronzerider. His grin hasn’t abated much and the tug to a tress of his hair brings a playful grunt and half-muttered exclamation — it would've resulted in a playful bat at that hand, if the greenrider wasn't exhausted. The most he can do is retaliate by trying to shake those tresses away from F'yr's grip. Luckily for all, Ru’ien doesn’t need or want names, the answer given more than enough to satiate his humoured curiosity.

It’s not something he needs, either, but the intrigue is there. Will it be his thing? Ru’ien isn’t sure, but it has done little to temper his eagerness on the idea. His gaze holds to F’yr’s just long enough for that grin to finally temper to a more genuine (if still smug) smile. “I want to try it with you.” he admits with no lack of confidence or uncertainty. “I enjoyed the little preview taste tonight.” A small tease, but all truth. Unspoken is the obvious lack of pressure; they don’t have to rush into it and neither is Ru’ien entertaining the thought of approaching it while proddy (at least, not initially) again. There will have to be different talks, at later times…

Whatever maelstrom of emotions struck to awaken him must be calming to some degree. Still there but not so demanding of his focus. Ru’ien will stifle a yawn, then stretch out languidly before resettling, curved and snuggled in against his lover’s side. F’yr won’t mind if he continues to use his chest as a temporary pillow? “I feel like there was more I wanted to say, to touch on, but my thoughts are fuzzy. Maybe it wasn’t too …” Important? He makes a face at that. No, that'd be wrong to frame it like that and even he won't be that blase about it. “… maybe it can wait.” That seems to work for him, though he’ll tilt his gaze up as much as he can for a glimpse. “Unless you had something on your mind?” The last is said in a quieter voice, again with no pressure for F’yr to answer beyond a yes or no.

"Then we can try it," F'yr's voice doesn't need to sound resolved because he has no present doubts or concerns about trying something new-to-Ru'ien with the man. There's no judgment nor hurry. It's just a thing they can do together. He's good with that, whenever they get around to it. A smile does flip onto his lips as he says, "I am glad you liked tonight." But then, he would always be that, after they've shared something that he, too, enjoyed. This topic doesn't need to linger and his hand starts straying from hair to skin, stroking lightly along the greenrider's back. "You can say what you want to say, when you want to say it." Of course. "Now, later," he shrugs, a movement that's small but can be felt given the greenrider's position.

As to whether or not F'yr has something on his mind— there's an opening of his mouth and a closing. "Well," he opens it again to say, "There is something I'd meant to share with you tonight, and I need to before I leave, but it doesn't have to be now if you'd rather get back to sleep." That's a real offer; it really isn't so pressing as get-it-out-now, but it is pressing enough to mention it so that they don't not get to it before the bronzerider heads out.

“Liked tonight, loved tonight and won’t soon forget it~” Ru’ien’s exhaustion hasn’t dampened his sense of humor any, his words low and murmured around a deeper chuckle. He hums his agreement to F’yr’s next statement, relaxing further under that stroking hand, now that it has gone to his back.

AND WHO CAN SLEEP WITH AN ANSWER LIKE THAT, FEAR? Not Ru’ien! He blinks his eyes open, still very much relaxed but far too curious to even remotely let that slide. “You realize," he half purrs, "How unfair it is to phrase it that way?” Ever teasing, mouth pulled into a broad smirk but his eyes remain gentle and warm — mischief aside, of course. “May as well tell me Fear or I’m just going to keep myself awake trying to puzzle it out~'' Okay, he wouldn’t (maybe), but the bronzerider has his full attention! He will adjust his position slightly, wiggling his way up to settle more at F’yr’s shoulder now.

Ru'ien's words draw a chuckle from F'yr. "Unintended," is a sort of apology for that, but he, too, will shift, not more away from Ru'ien on purpose, but enough that he can prop himself a little more up on a pillow, silently encouraging Ru not to make pillow of him, but rather to shift so the bronzerider can see him. "I might be about to make the same kind of mistake twice, but I didn't know Kihatsuth was— well, going to do that when I came over, and I should probably have come sooner to talk to you, but…" Life. It happens that way sometimes. "So I'm sorry for the timing, if it ends up— not great." This might, in not so many words, explain that it already happened once, sort of similarly, and not so great.

But F'yr isn't the type to beat around the bush when it's something he intends to share at all, so his words come directly. "Earlier this seven, Glori caught Koth. There was a storm. The big one, you remember?" Thunder, lightning, BOOM~ etc. "V'ro…" He shakes his head, "He hasn't wanted to know about my people. But it's nearly to the point that almost everyone knows everyone else's names, and I just keep thinking on what you said— and how I didn't want him feeling blindsided, or betrayed— by either of us, by me," because F'yr lived through what they went through and just doesn't want to see anything similar happening.

"So I…" IS IT HOT IN HERE? WELL, LOOK AT THAT ABASHED BLUSH AS HE CONFESSES, "I took advantage of the storm and— well," THE FEEL GOOD AFTERGLOW, PRICK, "and told him names." His lips press briefly together waiting for Ru's reaction but a moment later that attempt to be patient is broken by his own expression of pain, of some kind of regret, "It… wasn't great. We didn't really talk after that." Beat, "But I wanted you to know that he knew…" And, "I'm sorry I didn't think it through enough to— I don't know." He had said he'd want to be the one to tell V'ro, but he did sort of take the choice into his own hands and now they all have to live with the consequences. KICK HIM OUT, RUIN! HE DESERVES NO LESS.

The silent encouragement is followed through, not without a teasing note of complaint from Ru’ien to have to move again. He’s quick to resettle though, grabbing one of the larger pillows to support his back. “She was rude this time around,” he admits, while settling the blanket over himself (he may be regretting leaving that robe behind). Is it lost on him that F’yr began with saying ‘the same kind of mistake twice’? No, he didn’t. But he wasn’t about to point that out and leave the bronzerider to hang himself explain freely. The apology keeps him from making some amused quip too.

Storms are not a favourite thing, though most are tolerated. Big ones, not so much! Which explains his quick and sole interjection: “How could I forget that one?” Ru’ien muses, then sobers in the next breath at the turn of conversation. IS IT HOT IN HERE? Or is that the sound of the peaceful bubble surrounding them abruptly popping? He’s certainly giving F’yr a look the entire time, mouth silently working before drawing tightly closed. A look that isn’t quite wary and disbelief, definitely a myriad of other emotions (hello, no masks) and maybe one small step into trying not to nervously break down into laughter.

DON’T THINK HE DOESN’T SEES AROUND THE USE OF THE STORM! honestly he’d do the same, bro That expression of pain and regret from F’yr isn’t lost on Ru’ien, but he’ll address that further in a moment — he at least softens his expression slightly. First? First, he’s going to take a deep steadying breath while groping for something — a something that turns out to be a smaller decorative pillow not yet wholly banished to the floor from earlier activities. It’s just firm enough for a statement, which Ru’ien makes by THWAPING F’yr in the chest and side with it! Once. Twice! (Thrice?) Slightly increased force on the second “blow” (it's really not that hard hitting) that still carries some sort of darker playful element to it.

It’ll be tossed away once he’s satisfied (or F’yr’s defended himself and rid them both of it) and Ru’ien will reach for their abandoned glasses. Both are topped up and he’ll leave F’yr to decide if he wants to indulge. HE needs it right now, since the world is now sliding an unsettling sideways degree. “It’s never great, Fear.” he scoffs with a grimace. “Timing for that sort of bombshell rarely is.” Is Ru’ien really that upset? Yes — and no. It’s not anger fuelling him. It’s (a kind of) fear, Fear! Tipping the glass to his lips, he’ll knock back about half and sighing heavily once he’s swallowed. Give him a second (or ten)! “You did what you felt you had to do,” he quietly murmurs, a hint of an apology in his own tone; for all the bronzerider went through, the ‘not great’ as a result with V’ro and what he can only assume what went down. It’s true, they discussed this and maybe he’s to blame for putting the idea in F’yr’s head but did Ru’ien ever think much further than that? “I’m … grateful you told me.” Maybe just not too thrilled about the chosen moment.

F'yr is plainly determined to get it all out in one shot because a myriad of emotions on Ru's face would normally be a reason to pause and not confess everything. He must feel pretty badly about it all— the original derp and this one because when the pillow comes, he just closes his eyes and takes it. LISTEN, HE KNOWS HE DESERVES WORSE, OKAY? "I know, I know," is even groaned amidst the just thwappings.

When it leaves off he opens his eyes and shifts a little to grimace slightly — not at Ru'ien but himself. "I'm sorry," he says again, because apparently he feels he should. "If it helps, I'm— I'm not sure that any name was the problem, just that I have names." This might, at least, clarify what from F'yr's STUPID perspective the problem seemed to have been. But, honestly, what does he really know??

Then, because he doesn't know what else to do, he's shifting up to sitting and then meaning to draw Ruin and his drink into his arms, into the space between his legs, back to chest, unless the greenrider has other ideas, though he won't persist if he doesn't have a pliable partner. "What can I do? Anything?" YOU ALREADY DONE DID IT, F'YR. Now you watch everything settle. He doesn't reach for his own drink yet, but give it all a minute to sink in and he probably will.

While apologies are often expected, they sometimes act differently with Ru’ien. He’ll wince when F’yr says it again, mouth pursing into another grimace as he levels him with a sideways look. There's nothing to apologize for? An unspoken request, softened by the gentler expression he adopts. The greenrider can grasp enough to understand why he feels so compelled to keep apologizing, so he can’t wholly blame him?

It could be that F’yr deserves worse, but Ru’ien won’t be the judge on that. He’ll go willingly, drawn into F’yr’s space and settling in comfortably. Pliable enough, with tension keeping his shoulders and back stiff and not wholly relaxed as before. Either the alcohol will help with that or the next moments between them will determine a change. What can he do? THAT HE HASN’T ALREADY DONE? Ru’ien’s mouth works silently, his tongue lightly wetting his lips as he eventually sighs.

“Stay.” And as that’s already being followed, he’ll continue on, as he leans back against F’yr, idly tilting his glass in his hand and watching the liquid within it swirl. “We’ll talk, if there’s anything more to talk about. Maybe we can get back to where we were?” In that peaceful safe bubble. Ru’ien’s miffed about that, okay? He’s slowly coming around to why F’yr had to do what he did, but he was in a very vulnerable state AS THEY HAD JUST TOUCHED ON. “I wasn’t ready,” he offers, as explanation and his own round-about apology. Now it might be his turn to aim a low blow, as he continues on gruffly. “I wanted tonight to leave me with good memories here, in this place, Fear. You —“ Are an ass? Maybe. So is Ru’ien, so the pot calling kettle here~ “…didn’t know. I didn’t think to bring it up.” Or that he was in the final stages of his proddy-spell. Perhaps then, it’s moot point? Ru’ien lapses silent long enough to indulge in some of that drink of his. “You did what you felt was right.” Now whose (kind of) repeating themselves? “And I can’t really get mad at you for that.”

So? Ru’ien takes another long, deep breath that he slowly exhales in an effort to regroup. F’yr should take comfort that he hasn’t just donned a mask and locked him out even if that is on the list of ‘he deserves it’. “Let’s try this again? You gave him the names, but it might not be any particular name, just that there are, that’s the issue?” Is it punishment enough to have to go over it again, so soon? and how offmark is he, for somewhat listening?

When Ru'ien settles against him, there's a small lessening of the tension grown in F'yr's frame, more when he tips his head to nuzzle into the hair over that shoulder. One hand comes up to gently shift the fall of it so his lips can find skin. It's not tentative, but nor is it something that would be discordant with the dampened mood. What the kiss, the touch of tongue and graze of teeth is is some kind of silent expression of being here, of having stayed, even though that's obvious from his lack of leaving; maybe he just needed to do something more active.

"In a way," he begins after a rumbling noise of consideration and vociferous typist protests that HE CANNOT DO THIS! F'YR!!, "maybe it is a good memory, if not quite the one you hoped for?" A GOOD MEMORY?? F'YRSOMELY STUPID BRONZERIDER, WHAT ARE YOU ON ABOUT. "Because I did something stupid," okay, at least he knows it, "and we're still here, together, talking and fixing and… building us." He bites his lower lip a moment as if MAYBE THIS SOUNDS A LITTLE FLIMSY EVEN TO HIS OWN EARS. It doesn't stop him from you ass letting his lips manifest a small, sort of hopeful smile toward the greenrider before he's reaching for his alcohol because that will help his brain power.

"Maybe," AND THIS ONE MIGHT ACTUALLY BE BETTER!! "We can have a do-over. Not that the flight wasn't good," because what bronzerider who doesn't want to get kicked out on his ass would say otherwise, especially since it was, "but it wasn't what we imagined tonight would be, either." A beat. Then, not quite pained, but in a flat tone that almost certainly indicates F'yr thinks of the offer he's about to make as some kind of penance (and not some kind of reward), "You could show me your wardrobe next time."

No protest is given or any sign that the kiss, the touch of tongue and graze of teeth, is unwanted. Ru’ien will, in fact, tilt his head and chin in a way to encourage more of it or however much F’yr is willing to actively express. It does well to make him a touch more “agreeable” to what follows in light of the discussion between them. He will listen, glass held in one hand and tucked safely against his body, while his other hand finds some part of the bronzerider to rest on — not idly, either. That hand will smooth over skin in caressing strokes, only to be followed up by the firm press and drag of his nails, as fingers curl; the gesture is mostly teasing. Mostly.

“It’s not the one I’d hoped for but I don’t even know what that ‘hope’ would’ve been. I don’t look or plan ahead that far,” If it can he helped, to keep from DISAPPOINTMENT! LISTEN, initial shock aside, he really HAS enjoyed much of their evening together (proddy, flight and all). Ru’ien WILL gradually consider that offered perspective and angle from the bronzerider. Flipping it around in his head, finding it not that bad of a resolution to the second sharp curve the night has taken — but before he can open his mouth to say as much, F’yr’s continuing on. BRO, GIVE HIM A SECOND

Penance? punishment? There was a low sound, part exclamation, part deep and quiet laugh for the initial suggestion of a do-over. He would’ve commented in sincere agreement that tonight was good, even with Kiha’s terrible sense of personal chaotic humored timing! All that is brought to a full stop under that not-quite pained, flat tone of F’yr’s. It has Ru’ien sobering fast, as he twists just enough to reach with his free hand — just enough so he can press his fingers to F’yr’s lips.

hush a second “Hold those thoughts?” He will at least start with a partially teasing edge, letting his request sink in for a beat or two. Should the request be followed, those fingers will slowly drift away, likely to linger in a feather-touch caress that traces down to his chin and the curve of his jaw. Affectionate. Tender. “I’d never ask you to do something for me if it wasn’t enjoyable — and I mean for both of us! Even something like a ‘do-over’.” A passing shadow flickers in Ru’ien’s gaze, as he taps his knuckles lightly, almost playfully, just over F’yr’s heart (or close enough, given angles and their current positions). “Don’t you ever sacrifice your enjoyment —" He could be hinting 'happiness' here too. "— in something we’re to do together. Besides,” he scoffs lightly, trying now to steer them out of such heaviness, with humor returning as gradual as the slow smirk curving his lips. “I’m tough enough to accept it when I’m told my ideas for fun completely suck.” Or just don’t align with the preferences of his current company~

Well, he does hold those thoughts, and, by the looks of things, many others. F'yr's brows go from slightly uplifted in inquiry for whatever Ru'ien wants to say amid the probably-not-making-it-better ramble~ of his own to dipping on down to furrow his forehead even as his partner's hands drift along his jaw. (Let this be one example of how unmoved F'yr is by the physical when there's something deeper at work. Not that he doesn't like it, of course, but it's not holding the better part of his attention, the caresse and the touch.)

Evidently whatever he plans to say next require some shifting around because, he wants to be able to see the greenrider better.The result is one of F'yr's legs over Ru'ien's as he shifts himself to the side, so that his legs are, more or less loosely encircling the other's waist, with his ass still on the bed off to the one side. "Ruin," he starts after a moment of staring at him with the press of his lips indicating he's ordering words to get them right (WHICH MAYBE HE SHOULD HAVE DONE EARLIER, HUH??), a habit he is not always in when it's just him and Ru'ien, one might have noticed as something that has slightly shifted between them as the intimacy has grown, but which he employs now.

His hand comes up to touch the greenrider's farther bicep, almost as bracing - which maybe means warning lights? - but it's also a way to be connected with his friend as much as his lover, his partner, the person he's in bed with just this moment. "I love you. But—" —that's dumb. OKAY, HE DOESN'T SAY THAT. A pause comes where those lips press again. "We're past that. I think. I thought." This might explain the slightly confused edge to that furrowed brow that hasn't lessened. "Not asking your partner to do things for you that aren't enjoyable is…" Well, it's hard to find this word because F'yr doesn't have what he's about to talk about, "…fine, for lighter things. Or things not ready to be deeper. But this is deep."

He reaches quickly with the hand that was on bicep to catch up the hand, to take the glass and lean and set it aside because he needs both Ru'ien's hands against his heart, and he'll slide further to straddle the greenrider's thighs, to put himself in a better spot to press them flat against his heart, under his hands. "This is real, Ruthien, to me," hopefully to him also! "I'm going to ask you to help me with the dishes, or go grab some firewood, or help me oil my ruddy enormous dragon, or any number of a thousand tiresome chores that happen to come up when we're together. I hope you'll ask me, too, because even if they're not enjoyable like going cliff diving or dancing or playing games in the kitchen," like that time they tried to see who could out-butter-up-whom for treats (that devolved quickly into just being nice, of course), "I want to do the boring things with you, too. It's part of building a life that includes each other because life is full of lots of things like that. And if it's something you enjoy, like showing me your wardrobe, I want to do that for you, too. Even if-" MOMENT OF TRUTH, F'YR, "-I'm pretty sure I'm just going to frustrate you as badly as I ever did any of my sisters by not being able to come up with more than, 'Yes, love, that one looks nice, too.' And, 'Are you sure this is actually a different color?'" Or pattern, or texture or— well, no, texture he's probably understood out of necessity for playing games with proddy Ru'ien.

He pauses, to draw breath, to move his hands to cup the greenrider's face, "Just because I want a life that doesn't include only you, doesn't mean that I don't want a full life and partnership with you." Then helplessly, as if— if this doesn't explain it, maybe nothing can: "I love you, Keruthien," leaving blue eyes to search blue and see if he's made himself thoroughly understood… or not.

Ru’ien with move with F’yr as he adjusts so that they can both see each other clearer. By then, his features have taken on a light quizzical edge, one brow already quirked up — it twitches a little further at his name. Yes? He has the greenrider’s unhurried attention, his gaze having noted how those pressed lips indicated the start of something of a more important vein. Even as his bicep is gripped, Ru’ien’s gaze only darts briefly to the touch before turning back to meet F’yr’s in silent inquiry. LISTEN, even if he HAD said it out loud that it was dumb, it wouldn’t have hurt his feelings~

The way his head tilts and his expression morphs into something more neutrally thoughtful and a touch perplexed; this is not what Ru’ien was expecting. Yet he gives F’yr all the space he needs to keep going, mutually from desire to hear him out and also to give himself time to take it all in. In a nutshell? Ru’ien’s grasping what F’yr’s getting at (and largely agrees), but he’s a handful of second behind because of yet another curve (albeit not as steep, abrupt or sharp) their discussion has taken. Overall not the worst tangent their night could’ve taken~

F’yr can easily take his glass away and gather his hands, following those movements so they can both resettle comfortably. His eyes lower to where his hands now rest over the bronzerider’s heart, brows furrowed but he doesn’t interject even then. There is one moment where he signals ‘agreement’ on the realness by the sudden upwards turn of his gaze to meet F’yr’s and a sharp, quick inhaled breath through his teeth. It’s real for him too!

SO WHAT’S WITH THE SUDDEN BLUSHING? it’s spreading so far, bro Ru’ien turns a shade darker the further F’yr goes along. His eyes widen slightly with each example, as his mouth works soundlessly, but he still doesn’t interrupt. It could be he won’t dare by this point. don’t focus on the fact that his eyes are getting misty~ The spell ‘breaks’ the moment F’yr cups his face and Ru’ien is blinking hard to pull his focus squarely on him, blue eyes meeting blue. His expression softens to one that is warm and treading a fine line towards bashful below it.

“I love you too, Stefyr.” Ru’ien murmurs low and hushed, obviously emotional. His eyes close, smile crooked and genuine in warmth and carrying much of what is unsaid but accepted, unconditionally. “I get it, I understand, I — “ He can’t help but laugh now, low and gruff. “Guess I’m more exhausted than I thought.” It could be the alcohol too. It could be many things! It could be that something resonated with old wounds and scars that are not related to them, but parallel just enough to cross in his lax (or lack of) control and no masks present — and he needed that reminder, a gentle nudge out of those darker pitfalls in the back of his thoughts. Sliding his hands up from F’yr’s chest, he will aim to drape his arms over his shoulders, in no hurry to escape their shared closeness — if anything, he is seeking more. “I want all of that with you too."

WELL, THAT'S SETTLED. Maybe F'yr wasn't really worried, but perhaps a sliver of doubt had started working its way toward his heart - too late, of course, to make a difference to what all he'd said, but maybe enough to have caused worry that maybe he was mistaken in his partner's want for the same depth and variety of partnership as he. But Ru'ien responds as he does, and any chance he might clue in that not every partner is going to just be on the same wavelength with him vanishes like a soap bubble drifting and thinning and popping into nothing.

His fingers brush across his partner's cheeks in the wake of his words, readily being drawn all the closer, letting more of his weight settle on the greenrider's thighs. "Good," is all he needs to say as if that closes the matter, decided~ He seals the mutual decision with a kiss… and another… and another. Really, this could go a long way to reclaiming the other bubble he managed to pop in recent memory, the bronzerider becoming more pliant in his partner's lap the longer these kisses go on. But at some point lips stop being occupied with each other — possibly to allow Ru'ien at his slightly lower vantage to put his lips to good use elsewhere? Possibly just to get some air, and when that happens, F'yr has words. DON'T FUCK IT UP THIS TIME, F'YR.

"I don't know about you," is an exaggeration in light of the recent decision, and if he's a little flatteringly breathless, maybe that makes the rest all the better, "but I plan to make a lot of good memories here with you. At my place, with you. Wherever we are together," he's not picky and he's not even just talking about the kind of memories made in dark nooks and shadowy corners. "We have as much time as we want to make as many memories as our minds can hold, you know." A beat, and then with some humor (but the tiniest bit of doubt, because in light of everything he wouldn't really blame Ruin for not), "Assuming I'm invited back." He even offers, playfully, "I can be on my best behavior the rest of the night." 'Best' here meaning perhaps something much more provocative than the usual definition.

Ru’ien would know a thing or two about slivers of doubt and how they can work quickly. There is relief with the brush of fingers across his cheeks, a gradual smile curving his lips as one bubble drifts and vanishes to be replaced by another (better) one. A singular word is certainly effective, but those kisses? He’ll lose himself in those for a spell, chasing each with another and another, deeper both physically and unspoken emotions. Ru’ien does put his lips to good use, not about to let an opportunity pass this time in extending this moment between them. He’ll seek out the curve of neck and throat, a light trace along the collarbone and finishing nearest to one shoulder. THEN he’ll come up for air long enough for F’yr to get in those words.

Ru’ien is too caught up in enjoying how breathless F’yr is to catch the full exaggeration (and he’s in a similar state himself). The timing works, however and if he wasn’t already melting from those kisses, the words do the trick. Is it hot in here? Nah, he’s just blushing again don’t ever speak of this, bro! So much blushing. “I think—“ he starts in a thick, gruff voice. He stops to swallow and clear his throat, finding it suddenly tight. “I think that’s a great plan, Fear and I’m in on it. I want all those memories too.” Here, his place, everywhere! He lets it stand unsaid that he agrees, without having to repeat it. Another smile, softer but no less warm and loving — he knows that they have time. The humor is welcomed, followed by a light scoff of his own and a playful nip placed somewhere teasingly sensitive.

“You,” Ass (with love). “Are still welcomed!" Ru’ien quirks a brow for the offer and now the smirk that replaces the smiles from before takes on a much more familiar edge. “Is that so?” he purrs, readily going down that more provocative thread. It shouldn’t be too surprising that the greenrider tests this challenge offer, but drags it out significantly through rounds of teasing and playfulness that sees them eventually both laying back in bed and tangled up with one another. How long before exhaustion seeks them out again? Sleep should eventually overtake them both and this time Ru’ien will remain asleep. If there is to be further small talk, casual banter or even retouching on deeper topics, it will have to wait until the morning! That is, if neither of them decide to be ‘on best behavior’ and do not end up occupied with each other in other ways.

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