On The Ground

Writers: Bree, Eimi
Date Posted: 3rd April 2006

Characters: Dyaera, D'cal
Description: Dyaera gains a (temporary?) new perspective on how much D'cal means to her while waiting for him to return from Thread.
Location: Dolphin Cove Weyr
Date: month 11, day 4 of Turn 3

In spite of Tilarth's increasingly concerned reassurances that D'cal and Aosorath were fine, Dyaera spent the entire Threadfall perched on her ledge, her eyes scanning the skies over the Weyrbowl as if she could keep D'cal from appearing in it injured by sheer force of will.

}: Aosorath says his rider is fine, :{ Tilarth said for the third time in the last quarter candlemark, her eyes whirling with her increasing worry. }: I told him to bring his rider here when they're done. You will see that they are fine. :{

It was what she needed more than anything. For the first time Dyaera truly appreciated what it must have been like for D'cal to sit on the ground and wait for her while she'd been flying against Thread. And now that she knew first hand just how wrong things could go...

"Are they--"

}: They're coming back, :{ Tilarth interrupted, and Dyaera squinted as a few weyrlings appeared in the sky, trying to make out if any looked hurt. Of course, Tilarth would have _told_ her if D'cal had been injured, but hearing wasn't enough. She had to see him, to know he was in one piece-- }:Aosorath says they can't come yet, not until they are done with Luthinath's rider. :{

Her entire body ached with tension, and the hard stone of her ledge was unforgiving. With effort, Dyaera pushed herself to her feet, dragging herself into the weyr and collapsing with little grace on her couch. There was nothing she could do now but wait... and hope he'd come.

"Dyaera?" D'cal called from the ledge as he stripped off his helmet and riding jacket. "Tilarth said it was important I come right away?"

"D'cal?" In spite of stiff and sore muscles, Dyaera staggered to her feet at the first word, her eyes watching him with naked relief as he pulled off his jacket. She took a step or two toward him without realizing it, gaze roaming over him from the tops of his boots to his head and back again. He was wonderfully, beautifully uninjured, and the relief was so strong she couldn't speak any more than his name.

"Dyaera, I'm all right," he said reassuringly as he took a few steps towards her. "Aosorath and I, we're all right. A little shaken maybe, but perfectly sound."

"No threadscore?" She reached out one hand to his shoulder, her fingers shaking a little as she smoothed down his tunic. Then she lurched forward, half tripping over her own feet and trusting him to catch her as she twined his arms around him and hugged him like she'd never let go.

He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close to keep her from falling, and just to feel her close in his arms. "No threadscore. No injuries. We're all right, Dyaera. Its over."

She didn't release him, she didn't know if she _could_ let go. Not while the picture of him lying in the infirmary with the same sort of injuries that she'd suffered still plagued her. "I was so scared, D'cal. I had no idea what it's like to have to stay on the ground."

"Don't worry, Dyaera. Aosorath took care of me. He flies very well." Despite his reassuring words, he was as relieved as she was to have made it back whole. He had seen what Thread could do to a person's body, and their spirit.

Dyaera heaved something that sounded suspiciously like a sob and buried her face in his neck. "I'm just glad you're not hurt."

D'cal lead his cheek against her forehead, closed his eyes and held her for a long moment. "I probably smell like firestone and crackdust still," he murmured softly.

"I don't care," she replied just as softly, her voice muffled as her lips moved against his neck. Her hands shifted from his shoulders to his back, the soft touches asking a question that she wasn't quite ready to say out loud.

The way her lips tickled his skin made a small chill run down his spine. Shards it had been so long since they were this close. "Well, I... I didn't have time to bathe... I came straight here."

"I don't care," she said a second time, her hands finding their way under his tunic. Her fingers barely brushed his skin, but even that tiny contact made something jump inside her.

His breath hitched as her fingers skimmed along his flesh. Shards but he had wanted her. Even when he was with Zanie, Dyaera had always been there in his mind, in his heart. He turned his head to lightly kiss her forehead, the bridge of her nose, her eyes. Part of him wanted to hold back. They had both been hurt by each other before. But he wanted to let himself love her, and he wanted to believe that maybe she was starting to feel something for him too.

Dyaera brought her hands back up, using her uninjured arm to pull it over his head. She was determined not to say anything--talking never seemed to do either of them any good when it came to this sort of thing. To make sure he didn't get any ideas about opening his mouth and destroying their moment of perfect understanding, Dyaera waited until his tunic dropped to the floor before wrapping her good arm around his neck and pulling him down for a kiss.

D'cal figured he'd better move them to somewhere a bit more stable before they both found themselves off balance. Their lips parted just long enough for him to lift her light body into his arms. She had gained a bit of weight from the last time he had carried her around the room, but it would still take some time before she was as strong as she once had been. That only served to remind the bluerider that he should take things slow. They had tried to rush into things before. Perhaps this time they should try to take things a bit easier, a bit slower.

In spite of her promise not to talk, Dyaera couldn't help the plantive plea that tumbled from her lips. "Please don't leave, D'cal..." She didn't give him a chance to reply, finding his lips again and kissing him with every ounce of desperation she'd felt over the endless, lonely months. Underneath her rising need was terror that something would happen and he'd turn around and leave again.

"No, love," he whispered between soft, teasing kisses. "There is nowhere else I would rather be... than here with you."

She wasn't sure if it was the words or the kisses that dragged a low moan from her, but she was sure that no one else had ever made her so wild with need with little more than a few kisses. Still, she was almost shy as she let her fingers explore the muscles of his chest, the tiniest hint of fear keeping her from moving her fingers to her own tunic and revealing her scars.

D'cal was not surprised by the aching desire building inside him. Shards, how he had wanted her for so long. But something had always gotten in the way - weyrlinghood, Threadscore, J'darin... Ah yes, there was still J'darin, and J'tak, and all the other men in her life. But none of them were here. As he reached for the drawstrings of her tunic he hoped that tonight he could convince her that there was something powerful about being touched by someone who would chose only you above all others. And maybe someday, she would want to chose _him_.

The neck of her shirt fell open under his fingers, one side slipping down to bare the curve of her breast and the small lines of scars that crept over her upper arm and shoulder. The scars still showed a rather angry red against her pale skin, but they were finally healed over.

He ran a finger lightly over the newly healed skin. D'cal could remember when those marks had been fresh, and extruciatingly painful. "Do they still hurt?" he asked quietly.

She shivered at his touch, having to swallow twice before she could get the words out. "N-no. They only get sore when I'm stretching them. It's mostly the muscles that hurt now..." Another shiver was followed by a gasp as his finger found a sensitive spot. "From not using them for so long," she finished faintly.

"I just don't want to hurt you," he said softly, his eyes full of true concern. The bluerider had been there by her side those first few agonizing weeks. He could still remember how she had cried out in pain at the slightest movement.

"That doesn't hurt," she replied in a faint voice, the hand on her uninjured side sliding up to grip at his shoulder. "It feels good, D'cal..."

"Well, we'll just take it slow," he whispered, leaning down to caress her neck with his lips. After all, they had waited so long for this moment to finally come. It was only right that they should make it last.

She couldn't remember ever having reacted so strongly to such a gentle brush of lips, though it was hard to tell if it was because she'd waited so long for him to touch her that _anything_ would reduce her to a puddle of emotions. The hand on his shoulder tightened as she brought her other hand up to explore. Part of her wanted him to continue his slow, teasing kisses until she went mad from it. The rest of her was ready to rip her own clothing off and beg for him to move faster.

~*~

Last updated on the April 12th 2006

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On The Ground