Log: Pool Talk
Who: P'draig, T'mic
When: It is a summer afternoon, 17:39 of day 5, month 7, turn 18 of Interval 10.
Where: Garden and Pool, Ista Weyr
What: Paddy catches up with Mic and tells him about the latest Barracks hijinks. Plans are made to get a little time away. Schmoopiness.
As the sun continues its slow slide down to meet the sea, the ever-present humidity has - momentarily, at least - broken. There may not even be a storm this evening. Mic and Aath have seized the moment for a proper bath, but only the rider is left at the pool, puttering around with damp shorts casually slung about his hips, Aath's forgotten straps over one shoulder. Every so often he breaks into a cheery hum, or a whistle, while his eyes search the ground.
At a slow amble, P'draig likewise dressed in shorts with a towel slung over his shoulder, makes his way towards the pool. Flip-flops slap the soles of his feet as he walks, making a distinctive thwacking sound until he gets onto the grass. "Hey," he calls out to his weyrmate as he draws near, moves to slide an arm around the slighter man. "All clean already, huh?" he says in a light tone of voice, though his expression is otherwise, on the thoughtful side.
T'mic toes under the hanging fronds of something fernish, hoisting the leaves to peer under, but the thwapping noise catches his attention. Turning with a pleasant smile, it breaks into a wider grin at the sight of the brownrider, and goes willingly into that embrace. "Hey yourself. And yeah. Aath's down at the beach." Flirting, but he doesn't add that bit. "I was just going to do her straps, but I can't find the oil. Don't suppose you brought any, did you?" he adds hopefully.
On top of that hug, there's a kiss drifted for T'mic's temple and then Paddy is just /laughing/ but he reaches into his back pocket and passes over a bottle. "Mm. Someone once told me something about carrying that around," he jokes and flips his towel off from around his neck, walks over to drop it and his flip flops down onto one of the benches and strips the rest of the way down. "Sit close, so I can talk to you while I scrub down?" he requests of the greenrider, soap taken along with towards the water.
Oh, but the greenrider's grin turns impish at the teasing! "Should've made me look for it myself. Would've been more fun." As Paddy moves off Mic flicks off the top and sniffs the oil, eyebrows going up at the brownrider for the smell. He shrugs, though, and pads after, rearranges the straps on his shoulder before flopping onto the bench. "Sure - might as well have something nice to look at while I work. How've classes with the younger ones been going? The long flights with the older are nice, but sort of dull, you know?"
"/Trying/ to stay focused," P'draig points out with a grin cast over his shoulder for the greenrider. He makes a point of taking his time getting in the water though, you know, so Mic has plenty to ogle while he gets settled. Eventually though, Paddy's in the water and lathering up like a good boy. "Classes are fine," the brownrider says with a little shrug. "You know how it is in the earlier months. They're getting to that point though where they can focus more on the things that we're teaching. Formations and so on. A bunch of the dragonets are doing a good job with flying, some of them haven't taken the first leap yet." There's a little silence as Paddy brings bubbles up his arms and across his chest. "It's the stuff outside of class that's a little rocky." His eyes lift to Mic's. "Talked to Solla lately?"
T'mic only grins sunnily at staying focused. /He/ is sitting over here on his bench like a good boy, alternately tipping oil onto his fingers and rubbing it into the lengths of hide and thread. Perhaps some of that oil is spilt or massaged with extra enthusiasm while P'draig poses, but the greenrider doesn't so much as twitch. "Yeah, they're, what. Four months now? Something like that. Aath's looking forward to seeing some of the bigger boys in the air." Paddy's question takes him momentarily aback; he peers at the brownrider for a moment before shrugging. "Not for a little bit - just hello-how-are-you-goodbye in the barracks. I'm trying to be careful about it, you know? Why?"
More lather spread across his chest and there's a quirk or two of Paddy's lips as he catches Mic looking now and then. "Mm. Four months, time flies," the brownrider quips a little, "and the boys are looking good if Aath is looking for new admirers," he notes with an amused expression. It fades slowly as he takes a deep breath. "Yeah. Hear you there. Have to keep the line with her pretty firm myself," he adds a little wryly then goes on.
"Balinne -- got on her case a little the other day. She got pretty upset."
T'mic says, "She's -always- looking." Like dragon... His amusement fades when Paddy stays serious, dark brows drawing over blue eyes as they search the brownrider's face. "She did? What happened?" He shoots a quick look at the wall separating him from the barracks, his fingers stilling over the straps. "Weyrlingmaster thing, or a Papa thing?"
"That's a little dicier to get at," P'draig answers as he brings water up his chest to rinse, dunks the soap and re-lathers his hands to start in on his hair. "Maybe a little of both. I think I've got the Weyrlingmaster side covered, might need a little Papa time though," the brownrider says slowly. "Basically, from what I can tell, when Balinne cracked down on Neraset and Avey about that fight, Solla said something that got interpreted as mouthing off, but Solla doesn't see it that way. She got really upset. Heck, whole Barracks was kind of wet noodle-like the other night when I came in."
Frowning, Mic slowly returns to his self-appointed task, though slower now. "Papa time I can do - just have to be careful about it." As Paddy explains his expression darkens further, until he's a veritable storm cloud sitting there on the bench. He's not threatening rain, though. "And? Who's... who's right?" Carefully, that, feeling his way. "She hasn't breathed a word of it to me. S'been -quieter-, yeah, but I thought that was just..." A shoulder shrugs. "Shells."
Suds. In Paddy's hair. Kind of funny. "Mm, I know," the brownrider answers about carful. "No way to know that, Mic," P'draig answers with a little shift of his shoulders upward. "Just seems to me that it's not really a Tosolla thing to do, you know. Probably a misunderstanding. I talked to Balinne about it a bunch. Talked to Solla too. But you're her father and it might help her to just have a little bit of your time. Father-daughter. Not weyrlingmaster to weyrling or greenrider to greenrider even."
Mic says, "Shells," again and stares balefully through his weyrmate. After a moment and a shake of his head he comes back to himself, offers a weak shadow of his usual sunny grin. "So what's Bali's side of things? Just that Solla was being lippy?"
"Well, Avey first, then Neraset, then Solla," P'draig says with a little quirk of his mouth to the side. "Seems it was kind of a seven for it. Mouthy weyrlings." His hands work lather more deeply into his scalp, then he holds up a finger, dunks beneath the water long enough to rinse, comes back up to finish washing, entirely un-shy. "The whole group is sharing discipline for that fight."
"Seven, nothing," Mic retorts. "Sounds like just one night." He quiets when Paddy dunks, and when the man resurfaces he's remembered about his chore and is smoothing oil into the leather again. "So what's Solla's side? And what's yours?"
"Well, Avey mouthed off to me right after the fight. Girl doesn't know when to quit while she's ahead," P'draig notes wryly and sets the soap down on the pool's edge, he leans his forearms nearby, looks up at Mic. "Solla says she got yelled at for no reason. Mine ... is more complicated. Spent some time talking to Balinne."
The greenrider only sighs. "Sounds like she could use some time - /more/ time running laps, or on latrine duty." But Avey's not his concern. He tilts a wry smile at the brownrider for the delay. "'M I going to have to come over there and pull words out of you one at a time? What's /your/ side of it, then? And we're back at Bali again, you notice?"
"That's ... covered," P'draig answers. "And then some. Pushups. Laps. Climbing a wall with Neraset ..." he trails off, traces a line through the little puddle collecting as he drips onto the pool's stone edge. "I didn't agree with Balinne," Paddy finally says, still looking down at those lines he's tracing.
"So you think Solla's right?" Mic leaps on that admission with both feet. "Did you tell her so? Bali, I mean? 'Cause you know this isn't something -I- can go to her about. I've got to stay out of the middle on this one."
"I don't know who's right or wrong," P'draig says with a shake of his head and looks up at T'mic. "But I do think Balinne overreacted. I -- I understand now that she's got /reasons/, but I just wouldn't have handled the whole thing the same way." Deep breath. "And well, in some ways I guess that's been on my mind. Maybe I shouldn't be doing this if I can't back my Weyrlingmaster," the brownrider finally concludes. "I'm too used to /being/ the Weyrlingmaster."
T'mic hears him out, hands gone still again. "--Oh babe," he finally sighs, sympathy washing his features. "Doesn't mean... it doesn't mean you have to agree with Bali every step of the way. Any more'n you agree with -me-," he adds with a little smirk. "Well, flip it over, then. You're back at Fort, and R'us comes to you saying you were too hard on one of them. Now what?"
"No, I know, it's not that I disagreed that's the problem. But before I went to talk to her, I just -- well I took care of them. As much as I could. The kids." Deep breath from Paddy. "It's one thing for her and I to disagree and talk about it together, but I didn't even think about it when I talked to the weyrlings before I went in to see her." Up come gray-blue eyes seeking out Mic's muddy ones. "If it was me and R'us? Talk it out, listen, back and forth, take it under consideration, maybe change my mind, maybe not. And if I don't, he backs me."
If Mic weren't draped in straps, if Paddy weren't soaking in water, surely the greenrider would snuggle straight up to his weyrmate to provide the physical comfort his words are failing to give. "Paddy... love. The kids were hurting, yeah? 'Course you're going to help them out first." He rocks forward to stand and remembers the straps; grimaces and starts wrestling his way out from under the leather. "So you've talked to Bali. She's thinking about what you've said, right? Faranth, when did Aath become /bronze/?"
P'draig lifts a hand to rub at the back of his neck, nods. "Yeah, I guess, I just -- have to watch it. Make sure I'm not over-stepping, you know?" His eyes seek Mic's out again and a little smile starts up then an outright /grin/ and he's the one pulling himself out of the pool to come help untangle the greenrider. "Jekzith says she is still perfectly and very prettily green," he jokes.
T'mic finally struggles free just as Paddy gets there; he shoves the straps aside vehemently and steps straight into the brownrider's arms, wet or not. "'S a sharding awkward class for everybody," he mumbles, his words distorted from a mouth pressed into the taller man's chest. "You, me, gotta be hard for Bali, too. All of us have more experience'n she does." B'ryce the eldest, Fadra the determined, P'draig the gentle, T'mic the empathic. "I'll talk to her - Bali - but Solla doesn't lip back. Not like Mella, even."
P'draig laughs again as Mic frees himself just as he gets there and gets an armful of greenrider for his trouble. The brownrider just hugs the smaller man tight. "Mmm, yeah, just didn't seem like a Solla thing, you know?" Paddy's cheek drops down atop Mic's head. "We'll get it all figured out though. It's the first one with all of us on the job. And it's not like Balinne's not open to talking through things. She's still kind of getting her feet under her, that's all. I remember what it was like."
"Yeah," Mic agrees muffledly, apparently content to stay just like this for as long as it takes. "So I'll go find Bali, then Solla, then come back to you." He pauses, struck by a thought, and blows out a long, experimental breath across the brownrider's chest. "You on tonight?"
"Mm, okay," P'draig says softly into Mic's hair, grins too. "Maybe Solla first, make sure she really is okay," the brownrider says mildly. A kiss finds its way into close-cropped curls. "Nope. B'ryce and Fadra got the short straws."
T'mic grunts an acknowledgment, but, "Bali first. Don't want to get more, uh, biased'n I am already." Look at him using that vocabulary! Now he's in a quandary: look up and lose the kisses, or stay where he is and lose -other- kisses? "You want to go somewhere tonight, then? Back to Fort? Up to the Reaches, see your sister, Telgar to see your brother? Or d'you want to stay home?"
"Okay," P'draig doesn't protest further and helps solve Mic's quandary by dropping his head lower. For those other kisses. "Let's go see Remi and Vrys," Paddy decides. I can toss Jaivery around a little and you can ogle Remi covertly. Then maybe we can head over to Fort for drinks. Catch up with some old friends," the brownrider proposes.
Mock-pouting, "I don't get to ogle Vrys?" The brownrider can feel the smile against his skin seconds before Mic turns his head to place a kiss in the softer skin between chest and shoulder, then looks up, still grinning. "Sounds good, all of it. You finished washing, or d'you need help with that?" His expression turns immediately, teasingly earnest. "I'm very helpful, you know."
"You can ogle whomever you want," P'draig says laughingly, tips his head to the side a little and takes a slightly shaky breath. "Mm. Might need the cold water," he says, deadpan. "Want to scrub my back? Got everything else. Though you know, after all that hard work today, can't ever really get enough washing."
T'mic says, "Need to finish Aath's straps first. Told her I'd shine them up to match her beautiful hide." There's no trace of teasing in either his words or face now, only utter smitten sincerity. "So guess I'd better let you finish by yourself, else we won't be getting out of here tonight." Now there's a quick pout, but then he's stepping back, slipping out of the brownrider's arms and shooing him like a chicken back to the water.
"Mm. Well come on over when you're done, because you're going to need more washing after dealing with all that oil," P'draig replies teasingly. "And I might still need help, really, can't reach my whole back," he says honestly, but drops another kiss atop Mic's hair before retreating back to the pool to take a stab at getting most of his back clean.
When: It is a summer afternoon, 17:39 of day 5, month 7, turn 18 of Interval 10.
Where: Garden and Pool, Ista Weyr
What: Paddy catches up with Mic and tells him about the latest Barracks hijinks. Plans are made to get a little time away. Schmoopiness.
As the sun continues its slow slide down to meet the sea, the ever-present humidity has - momentarily, at least - broken. There may not even be a storm this evening. Mic and Aath have seized the moment for a proper bath, but only the rider is left at the pool, puttering around with damp shorts casually slung about his hips, Aath's forgotten straps over one shoulder. Every so often he breaks into a cheery hum, or a whistle, while his eyes search the ground.
At a slow amble, P'draig likewise dressed in shorts with a towel slung over his shoulder, makes his way towards the pool. Flip-flops slap the soles of his feet as he walks, making a distinctive thwacking sound until he gets onto the grass. "Hey," he calls out to his weyrmate as he draws near, moves to slide an arm around the slighter man. "All clean already, huh?" he says in a light tone of voice, though his expression is otherwise, on the thoughtful side.
T'mic toes under the hanging fronds of something fernish, hoisting the leaves to peer under, but the thwapping noise catches his attention. Turning with a pleasant smile, it breaks into a wider grin at the sight of the brownrider, and goes willingly into that embrace. "Hey yourself. And yeah. Aath's down at the beach." Flirting, but he doesn't add that bit. "I was just going to do her straps, but I can't find the oil. Don't suppose you brought any, did you?" he adds hopefully.
On top of that hug, there's a kiss drifted for T'mic's temple and then Paddy is just /laughing/ but he reaches into his back pocket and passes over a bottle. "Mm. Someone once told me something about carrying that around," he jokes and flips his towel off from around his neck, walks over to drop it and his flip flops down onto one of the benches and strips the rest of the way down. "Sit close, so I can talk to you while I scrub down?" he requests of the greenrider, soap taken along with towards the water.
Oh, but the greenrider's grin turns impish at the teasing! "Should've made me look for it myself. Would've been more fun." As Paddy moves off Mic flicks off the top and sniffs the oil, eyebrows going up at the brownrider for the smell. He shrugs, though, and pads after, rearranges the straps on his shoulder before flopping onto the bench. "Sure - might as well have something nice to look at while I work. How've classes with the younger ones been going? The long flights with the older are nice, but sort of dull, you know?"
"/Trying/ to stay focused," P'draig points out with a grin cast over his shoulder for the greenrider. He makes a point of taking his time getting in the water though, you know, so Mic has plenty to ogle while he gets settled. Eventually though, Paddy's in the water and lathering up like a good boy. "Classes are fine," the brownrider says with a little shrug. "You know how it is in the earlier months. They're getting to that point though where they can focus more on the things that we're teaching. Formations and so on. A bunch of the dragonets are doing a good job with flying, some of them haven't taken the first leap yet." There's a little silence as Paddy brings bubbles up his arms and across his chest. "It's the stuff outside of class that's a little rocky." His eyes lift to Mic's. "Talked to Solla lately?"
T'mic only grins sunnily at staying focused. /He/ is sitting over here on his bench like a good boy, alternately tipping oil onto his fingers and rubbing it into the lengths of hide and thread. Perhaps some of that oil is spilt or massaged with extra enthusiasm while P'draig poses, but the greenrider doesn't so much as twitch. "Yeah, they're, what. Four months now? Something like that. Aath's looking forward to seeing some of the bigger boys in the air." Paddy's question takes him momentarily aback; he peers at the brownrider for a moment before shrugging. "Not for a little bit - just hello-how-are-you-goodbye in the barracks. I'm trying to be careful about it, you know? Why?"
More lather spread across his chest and there's a quirk or two of Paddy's lips as he catches Mic looking now and then. "Mm. Four months, time flies," the brownrider quips a little, "and the boys are looking good if Aath is looking for new admirers," he notes with an amused expression. It fades slowly as he takes a deep breath. "Yeah. Hear you there. Have to keep the line with her pretty firm myself," he adds a little wryly then goes on.
"Balinne -- got on her case a little the other day. She got pretty upset."
T'mic says, "She's -always- looking." Like dragon... His amusement fades when Paddy stays serious, dark brows drawing over blue eyes as they search the brownrider's face. "She did? What happened?" He shoots a quick look at the wall separating him from the barracks, his fingers stilling over the straps. "Weyrlingmaster thing, or a Papa thing?"
"That's a little dicier to get at," P'draig answers as he brings water up his chest to rinse, dunks the soap and re-lathers his hands to start in on his hair. "Maybe a little of both. I think I've got the Weyrlingmaster side covered, might need a little Papa time though," the brownrider says slowly. "Basically, from what I can tell, when Balinne cracked down on Neraset and Avey about that fight, Solla said something that got interpreted as mouthing off, but Solla doesn't see it that way. She got really upset. Heck, whole Barracks was kind of wet noodle-like the other night when I came in."
Frowning, Mic slowly returns to his self-appointed task, though slower now. "Papa time I can do - just have to be careful about it." As Paddy explains his expression darkens further, until he's a veritable storm cloud sitting there on the bench. He's not threatening rain, though. "And? Who's... who's right?" Carefully, that, feeling his way. "She hasn't breathed a word of it to me. S'been -quieter-, yeah, but I thought that was just..." A shoulder shrugs. "Shells."
Suds. In Paddy's hair. Kind of funny. "Mm, I know," the brownrider answers about carful. "No way to know that, Mic," P'draig answers with a little shift of his shoulders upward. "Just seems to me that it's not really a Tosolla thing to do, you know. Probably a misunderstanding. I talked to Balinne about it a bunch. Talked to Solla too. But you're her father and it might help her to just have a little bit of your time. Father-daughter. Not weyrlingmaster to weyrling or greenrider to greenrider even."
Mic says, "Shells," again and stares balefully through his weyrmate. After a moment and a shake of his head he comes back to himself, offers a weak shadow of his usual sunny grin. "So what's Bali's side of things? Just that Solla was being lippy?"
"Well, Avey first, then Neraset, then Solla," P'draig says with a little quirk of his mouth to the side. "Seems it was kind of a seven for it. Mouthy weyrlings." His hands work lather more deeply into his scalp, then he holds up a finger, dunks beneath the water long enough to rinse, comes back up to finish washing, entirely un-shy. "The whole group is sharing discipline for that fight."
"Seven, nothing," Mic retorts. "Sounds like just one night." He quiets when Paddy dunks, and when the man resurfaces he's remembered about his chore and is smoothing oil into the leather again. "So what's Solla's side? And what's yours?"
"Well, Avey mouthed off to me right after the fight. Girl doesn't know when to quit while she's ahead," P'draig notes wryly and sets the soap down on the pool's edge, he leans his forearms nearby, looks up at Mic. "Solla says she got yelled at for no reason. Mine ... is more complicated. Spent some time talking to Balinne."
The greenrider only sighs. "Sounds like she could use some time - /more/ time running laps, or on latrine duty." But Avey's not his concern. He tilts a wry smile at the brownrider for the delay. "'M I going to have to come over there and pull words out of you one at a time? What's /your/ side of it, then? And we're back at Bali again, you notice?"
"That's ... covered," P'draig answers. "And then some. Pushups. Laps. Climbing a wall with Neraset ..." he trails off, traces a line through the little puddle collecting as he drips onto the pool's stone edge. "I didn't agree with Balinne," Paddy finally says, still looking down at those lines he's tracing.
"So you think Solla's right?" Mic leaps on that admission with both feet. "Did you tell her so? Bali, I mean? 'Cause you know this isn't something -I- can go to her about. I've got to stay out of the middle on this one."
"I don't know who's right or wrong," P'draig says with a shake of his head and looks up at T'mic. "But I do think Balinne overreacted. I -- I understand now that she's got /reasons/, but I just wouldn't have handled the whole thing the same way." Deep breath. "And well, in some ways I guess that's been on my mind. Maybe I shouldn't be doing this if I can't back my Weyrlingmaster," the brownrider finally concludes. "I'm too used to /being/ the Weyrlingmaster."
T'mic hears him out, hands gone still again. "--Oh babe," he finally sighs, sympathy washing his features. "Doesn't mean... it doesn't mean you have to agree with Bali every step of the way. Any more'n you agree with -me-," he adds with a little smirk. "Well, flip it over, then. You're back at Fort, and R'us comes to you saying you were too hard on one of them. Now what?"
"No, I know, it's not that I disagreed that's the problem. But before I went to talk to her, I just -- well I took care of them. As much as I could. The kids." Deep breath from Paddy. "It's one thing for her and I to disagree and talk about it together, but I didn't even think about it when I talked to the weyrlings before I went in to see her." Up come gray-blue eyes seeking out Mic's muddy ones. "If it was me and R'us? Talk it out, listen, back and forth, take it under consideration, maybe change my mind, maybe not. And if I don't, he backs me."
If Mic weren't draped in straps, if Paddy weren't soaking in water, surely the greenrider would snuggle straight up to his weyrmate to provide the physical comfort his words are failing to give. "Paddy... love. The kids were hurting, yeah? 'Course you're going to help them out first." He rocks forward to stand and remembers the straps; grimaces and starts wrestling his way out from under the leather. "So you've talked to Bali. She's thinking about what you've said, right? Faranth, when did Aath become /bronze/?"
P'draig lifts a hand to rub at the back of his neck, nods. "Yeah, I guess, I just -- have to watch it. Make sure I'm not over-stepping, you know?" His eyes seek Mic's out again and a little smile starts up then an outright /grin/ and he's the one pulling himself out of the pool to come help untangle the greenrider. "Jekzith says she is still perfectly and very prettily green," he jokes.
T'mic finally struggles free just as Paddy gets there; he shoves the straps aside vehemently and steps straight into the brownrider's arms, wet or not. "'S a sharding awkward class for everybody," he mumbles, his words distorted from a mouth pressed into the taller man's chest. "You, me, gotta be hard for Bali, too. All of us have more experience'n she does." B'ryce the eldest, Fadra the determined, P'draig the gentle, T'mic the empathic. "I'll talk to her - Bali - but Solla doesn't lip back. Not like Mella, even."
P'draig laughs again as Mic frees himself just as he gets there and gets an armful of greenrider for his trouble. The brownrider just hugs the smaller man tight. "Mmm, yeah, just didn't seem like a Solla thing, you know?" Paddy's cheek drops down atop Mic's head. "We'll get it all figured out though. It's the first one with all of us on the job. And it's not like Balinne's not open to talking through things. She's still kind of getting her feet under her, that's all. I remember what it was like."
"Yeah," Mic agrees muffledly, apparently content to stay just like this for as long as it takes. "So I'll go find Bali, then Solla, then come back to you." He pauses, struck by a thought, and blows out a long, experimental breath across the brownrider's chest. "You on tonight?"
"Mm, okay," P'draig says softly into Mic's hair, grins too. "Maybe Solla first, make sure she really is okay," the brownrider says mildly. A kiss finds its way into close-cropped curls. "Nope. B'ryce and Fadra got the short straws."
T'mic grunts an acknowledgment, but, "Bali first. Don't want to get more, uh, biased'n I am already." Look at him using that vocabulary! Now he's in a quandary: look up and lose the kisses, or stay where he is and lose -other- kisses? "You want to go somewhere tonight, then? Back to Fort? Up to the Reaches, see your sister, Telgar to see your brother? Or d'you want to stay home?"
"Okay," P'draig doesn't protest further and helps solve Mic's quandary by dropping his head lower. For those other kisses. "Let's go see Remi and Vrys," Paddy decides. I can toss Jaivery around a little and you can ogle Remi covertly. Then maybe we can head over to Fort for drinks. Catch up with some old friends," the brownrider proposes.
Mock-pouting, "I don't get to ogle Vrys?" The brownrider can feel the smile against his skin seconds before Mic turns his head to place a kiss in the softer skin between chest and shoulder, then looks up, still grinning. "Sounds good, all of it. You finished washing, or d'you need help with that?" His expression turns immediately, teasingly earnest. "I'm very helpful, you know."
"You can ogle whomever you want," P'draig says laughingly, tips his head to the side a little and takes a slightly shaky breath. "Mm. Might need the cold water," he says, deadpan. "Want to scrub my back? Got everything else. Though you know, after all that hard work today, can't ever really get enough washing."
T'mic says, "Need to finish Aath's straps first. Told her I'd shine them up to match her beautiful hide." There's no trace of teasing in either his words or face now, only utter smitten sincerity. "So guess I'd better let you finish by yourself, else we won't be getting out of here tonight." Now there's a quick pout, but then he's stepping back, slipping out of the brownrider's arms and shooing him like a chicken back to the water.
"Mm. Well come on over when you're done, because you're going to need more washing after dealing with all that oil," P'draig replies teasingly. "And I might still need help, really, can't reach my whole back," he says honestly, but drops another kiss atop Mic's hair before retreating back to the pool to take a stab at getting most of his back clean.