Show Me
Dragonsfall Weyr
Amber Hills Hold
Vintner Hall
Healer Hall
Hidden Meadows
Dolphin Cove Weyr
Dolphin Hall
Emerald Falls Hold
Harper Hall
Printer Hall
Green Valley Hold
Leeward Lagoon Hold
Barrier Lake Weyr
Sunstone Seahold
Citrus Bay Hold
Writers: Sia
Date Posted: 30th December 2024
Characters: R'fayne, O'rosin
Description: R'fayne tests Cirina's advice and is …surprised
Location: Dolphin Cove Weyr
Date: month 2, day 25 of Turn 12
Notes: Follows along the "Manhandled", "Mishandled Inquiries", and "Slandered"
Mentioned: Cirina Warning: a little bit of cursing
It was getting late, and O'rosin made the trip from the dining hall to his weyrling weyr on foot. Aeoluth would have been happy to bring him, but the brown seemed entertained with something else and away from anything that he could damage, so it hardly seemed worth it to pull him back for a task that would take just as long as climbing the steps from the Lower Caverns himself.
Except, of course, that it meant he didn't realize _who_ Aeoluth was playing with or that there'd be a blue dragon on his ledge, and a man waiting for him in his weyr. R'fayne was sprawled in his chair, one long leg draped over the armrest, the other stretched toward the floor. His dark curls were tousled, as if he'd been raking his fingers through them, and his tunic hung open at the throat, exposing a slice of sun-kissed skin. He looked completely at home, which only made O'rosin’s heart hammer harder in his chest.
"For Faranth's sake," O'rosin exclaimed, "Do you and Cirina have nothing better to do?"
Though he didn’t normally hang out alone in someone’s weyr unless it was in his family’s, usually one of his brothers’, R’fayne had been given enough manners to bring his own wine, in a bottle at his foot hopefully, and a few bottles of ale sat on the table. The slight crook to his mouth had the decency not to be a smirk, not yet, and he’d done nothing other than take a cursory glance around a weyr he thought was minimalist, functional, but slightly bare. Like O’rosin still couldn’t decide whether or not to move in.
“There you are.” R’fayne’s half interest with the wall shifted to O’rosin and into all of it, and he sat so comfortably that his head tilted rather than turned to look up at him. “And, well, that depends,” he drawled, not exactly sounding relaxed, not when he was watching him, “do you really want an answer to that? And what is it exactly that I’m doing? Visiting?”
O'rosin frowned at the drinks on the table and the wine resting precariously at R'fayne's feet, unsure and uncaring how the other weyrling had managed to obtain so much when they weren't yet running any extra errands. Little luxuries that he had never dreamed of before coming to the Weyr. The stupid smirk was infuriating, as infuriating as the easy confidence that made O'rosin's stomach twist in knots.
"Ambushing." O'rosin answered. "You sent Cirina to bother me, and now you're here to keep the game going. Are you two laughing and comparing notes? I don't much appreciate being your target."
“Well Aeoluth wasn’t able to say when you’d be back, so I apologize for the ambush. Don’t worry, I didn’t _touch_ anything.” R’fayne’s long fingers danced innocently atop his thigh for emphasis as he studied the man still so easily riled, even in the seclusion and security of his own home. The bluerider smiled through his low warm voice, through the silent laughter quaking his chest, “O’rosin, if we’re gonna play like this, can we at least play honestly? Enough with the pretending.”
And as one did when inviting disclosure, it was polite patience to start with it.
“I only spoke to Cirina out of necessity, because I didn’t think us talking face to face would go well for some reason, and that’s only because I’ve been as much your target as you’ve been mine. So, don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about, and I won’t act like I don’t like it, alright.” A hand ran soothingly through his hair, refocusing. “Now either come in, or throw me out,” he added, the air churning with smug challenge.
O'rosin stepped farther into the weyr, shutting the door behind him with a soft thud. He'd gotten ready to argue, but instead all he managed was a strangled, "What?" He felt his face heat as he remembered Cirina's teasing. "I don't play games. I'm not doing anything." He clarified in a half-rushed mess. "I am scraping through weyrling training by the skin of my teeth and I'm having a hard enough time without you pushing my buttons."
R’fayne couldn’t help but smile when O’rosin came all the way in, sitting up as he observed the other man cycle through his barriers of denial. “Yeah I know it’s been hard for you,” he admitted after a lengthy pause, which was partly courtesy of Cirina, though from what he knew few things except a dragon had ever just handed themselves to the brownrider.
There was something in the color rising on that brownrider’s face now that had R’fayne uncoiling from his chair, gaze shifting from speculative to intent, “I thought we could do something you might like actually.” He admitted, giving his wine bottle a little nudge with his foot. “But let’s be clear - you don’t like me pushing them? Are you quite sure about that?”
R’fayne paused a few beats away from O’rosin, for once demanding all of his attention, “does me staring at you push your buttons? Does me enjoying you staring at me push your buttons? Doesn’t that tell you something? What’s the worst thing I’m gonna do other than open my mouth a bit, hmm?” he smirked.
O’rosin’s hands clenched into fists at his sides as R’fayne’s words hung in the air, the smug challenge in the bluerider’s tone igniting a fire that surged through him. His skin burned, his pulse hammering in his ears as he struggled to push down the emotions threatening to consume him"embarrassment, frustration, and something else far more dangerous.
“Shut up,” O’rosin snapped, his voice cracking slightly. Before he could think, before he could second-guess himself, he surged forward, grabbing the front of R’fayne’s tunic and yanking him closer. Their mouths collided, the kiss rough and uncoordinated at first, more about release than finesse. O’rosin’s fingers tightened in the fabric of R’fayne’s tunic, his frustration pouring into the kiss"frustration at R’fayne, at himself, at everything. But it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t nearly enough.
R’fayne’s goading smirk dissolved into a hot gasp against O’rosin’s lips, otherwise he might have smiled smug enough to get himself hit.
The strength of O’rosin’s hands, his body pressing against his - it was about time they were done playing, tired of pretending, hiding, denying, and all the other feelings that R’fayne normally pushed down and locked away, certainly never put into words, began to rise up through his skin, coating each hungry sweep of his tongue. It was thrilling to feel the same anger and frustration burning through them both now, free and unabating. O’rosin sensed it too, holding on to him tighter and tighter, like it was easier to admit he wanted him the closer he got him.
Obliging, R’fayne’s hand anchored the brownrider to him, his grip on the back of his shirt uncompromising as his other hand slid up into sun-bleached hair. Nothing mattered except the heat of this man’s mouth, the taste of him, the way his body pressed into his. At last the brownrider was admitting some truth, this truth, and just like he’d been punched R’fayne’s entire body flooded with heat and longing. Yet in such an honest exchange between them, the indistinct sound low in his throat did noticeably render his last words to O’rosin a lie - he did not simply open his mouth a bit, but a little more, and a little more, their kiss intensifying into something deep and hotly electric.
O'rosin's head spun, his heart hammering against his ribs in a wild rhythm that only seemed to intensify as R'fayne's hands coaxed out responses that were as exhilarating as they were unfamiliar. He gripped the front of R'fayne's tunic, twisting the fabric tighter, anchoring himself in the moment.
That is, at least, until Aeoluth noticed and his sudden curiosity came flooding into the center of his mind, bright and intense. He broke the kiss suddenly, his forehead pressing against R'fayne's, their breaths mingling as he tried to steady himself. For a split second, O'rosin thought he might panic, that he'd somehow broke Aeoluth like he'd been described in the earliest weyrling lessons. But Aeoluth settled just as quickly, the curiosity shifting into an inquisitive urge to do it again. R'fayne's lips parted as if to say something, but O'rosin surged forward, capturing his mouth, his inexperience evident in the way his teeth scraped lightly against R'fayne's lower lip.
"I don't know what the fuck I'm doing." O'rosin said roughly when he finally pulled away. "Show me."
Dragging in the dense air of Aeoluth’s weyr, R’fayne’s voice returned in little more than a rough laugh, “No, you don’t.” he agreed. In fact, his lip bruised and stinging, he could make a joke of knowing how a dragon’s dinner felt after it returned from ‘Fall, but something in him went strangely still. His surprise hit him hard in the face at what O’rosin was asking - at two words holding as much challenge as they did dare, as much desperate plea, full of need, as frustrated demand. It was funny, R’fayne thought, how all he could really hear was the aching vulnerability behind those words and with his own kind of tenderness, he commanded, “Come here.”
Except - it was R’fayne’s hewn hand that found O’rosin’s mouth and R’fayne’s thumb that got to stroke O’rosin’s lower lip. His thumb, evidently, sliding the way his tongue might - taking in shape, fullness, gathering as much of O’rosin’s attention there as possible. Showing him thoroughly, patiently, even if every movement felt painfully drawn out with them still this close, this far.
“You’re fine, you know. You just need to slow down a little.” The bluerider murmured, and where his calloused thumb had been grazing, cursory, his tongue returned soft, playful, but intent. A dance of contrasts, which O’rosin seemed to be grasping as his tunic constricted even tighter, now threatening to forfeit its seams. As delicious as that would be, R’fayne pressed into him for emphasis - for reassurance against that silent barometer of inner intensity. “Relax ‘rosin, I’m not going anywhere.”
Then it was just them, just feeling each other, one eager to learn, the other more than willing to demonstrate. For two people so focused on the same parts, they were hilariously clumsy until R’fayne’s hand tightened in O’rosin’s hair, enough so that O’rosin got the point of what he was doing first and didn’t move until he was done. Until he let him. Until O’rosin understood how Weyrbrats kissed.
Last updated on the January 6th 2025