Log: Morning After, Clean Up
Who: P'draig, T'mic, NPCs: D'pry, Jenna
When: Morning after Aath's flight
Where: Weyrlingmaster's Office, Ista Weyr
What: Paddy takes care of Mic the morning after Aath's latest flight.
Early morning and only a few weyrlings are awake - few enough that even D'pry can handle them without completely falling down on the job, though he sends the Weyrlingmaster a wide-eyed look over the oil bins. Still, whatever has him riled wasn't quite bad enough to send word through the dragons, so...
Paddy yawns, tilts his head from side to side and rubs at the crick in his neck, squints at D'pry for a moment. "Morning," he muster chipperly though. "How'd it go last night?"
"Uh," the bluerider starts, and jerks his head toward the office like that will fill in the rest of the missing sentence. "Morning, sir. You, uh, might want to check on him, sir. T'mic. He said it wasn't anything and I shouldn't worry but there's well um. A lot of." He swallows and glances pointedly over at Jenna and Onth who are pretending badly that they aren't eavesdropping. "Maybe you should just go in. Sir."
Another yawn and then P'draig is quirky a humorous look at D'pry. "Aath went up. I'm sure he's pretty tired out," the Weyrlingmaster replies with a little shake of his head, but he gives the younger man a little 'carry on' nod and heads into the office on quiet feet.
Paddy could enter the office with hobnail boots and playing the drums, and it probably wouldn't disturb Mic, who is crashed out on the cot. He managed to get his vest off and shorts unbuttoned before falling over, but it's probably not that which bothers the bluerider. No, it's probably the faint dried streaks of blood peeking out from under Mic's shorts and flaking off his belly that has D'pry looking about to bolt.
That /does/ lift Paddy's brows a touch, but clearly, Mic isn't bleeding to death so he calmly stokes up the little hearth and puts klah on to brew, then gets a bowl of water and a cloth and approaches the sleeping greenrider to take stock more fully of his weyrmate's condition.
Except for the clearly old smears, Mic does look quite hale and healthy. There's a bowl of water on the floor, long since cold, and a sodden rag over the edge, but the greenrider never got a chance to use either. As the scent of klah begins to fill the room he rouses, ever so slightly; his weight shifts and one arm falls off the side to land knuckles down with a faint clunk on the floor.
Gently reaching for that hand, P'draig tucks it back in place, then sets to carefully daubing off Mic's mid-section with /warm/ water. A little bit of soap and oil helps to lift up stubbornly clinging flecks as well and the weyrlingmaster's gray-blue gaze settles on Mic's face in the meantime, rather than other parts of his anatomy unless the cleansing requires closer attention.
T'mic shifts again and grunts faintly, his retrieved hand grasping after air. After one bout of washing there's a sliver of one blue eye, a faint smile, and a gentle hand wrapping about P'draig's wrist. "Morning - it's morning, right? Did I sleep too long? What time's it?"
P'draig's wide smile greets that sliver of blue and he leans forward to kiss the greenrider before he speaks. "It's morning, start of the day shift and no, you haven't slept too long, love," the brownrider states clearly. "Just looks like ... hm. That time of the month for your partner?" Quirky brows. "Because I can't imagine you screwed /anyone/ so hard it wound up causing bleeding, even after a flight."
Mic beams sweetly, sleepily, his free hand curling about the back of the brownrider's neck. "Mmm," he agrees, pushing his shorts down further. "Yeah. First time her brown caught, too. And Aath was too wrapped up to lemme come home. I was gonna take a bath, but guess I just crashed, huh? How about you? You all right?"
Turning his face into Mic's wrist, Paddy places a kiss there, then sets down bowl and rag temporarily to help with the removal of shorts. "I'll get you a change of clothing in a second," he notes. "Shells, that must've been a doozy for her then. She's all right?" Brows lift again then P'draig laughs, nods. "I'm fine. Took Bennath's rider, Phara for a little spin under the trees, then she came up with me. She's still sleeping but will probably head back to Fort as soon as she wakes up." With those shorts off now, P'draig goes back to cleaning. For once there's nothing naughty in his methodology either.
Mic echoes, "Phara?" before the tricky business of shorts removal absorbs all his attention. After that, he stays quiet longer while Paddy cleans, trying to place... "Oh! The one who doesn't like flights. I remember her. Bennath caught Aath... few months ago? Last turn? Something like that. You think I shouldn't run back home, then? Wait a little, for her to wake up and go?"
"Yeah, that one," P'draig answers as daubing continues and the brownrider finishes up getting rid of the mess. "Mm. Give her a little leeway, maybe," is suggestd, then Paddy, sets the rag down in the bowl and rises. "Be right back, you relax. Want some klah or do you want to stay sleepy enough to go back to sleep at home?"
Mic arches and twists under the ministrations, but he - like P'draig - isn't trying to make anything more of them. For once. When the brownrider finishes he settles back, hands laced behind his head, content to watch. "Mmm... remind me - am I scheduled today? Or, well, tonight I guess, right? Should probably stay up for a little bit and sleep more this afternoon."
"You're not, but if you want to be on duty you can be," P'draig says with a look over his shoulder as he dumps the bowl and washes his hands off before going to pour out two mugs of klah. Returning to Mic's side, the Weyrlingmaster perches on the edge of the cot and holds out one mug to his weyrmate. "Other than tired, all back to normal?"
While P'draig's away Mic smothers a yawn, plumps his pillow and grudgingly swings his legs over the edge of the cot. Now there's room for both of them to sit! "Mmm, yeah," he says, accepting the klah with a nod. "She's still dozing - hasn't noticed he's gone yet. I told... Ro? Rhodya! Anyway, told her I'd try to get to Fort the next few days. You know what she's like, afterward, and he's about the same. She seems to like the Fortian males, 've you noticed?"
Once the klah's passed off, P'draig slips his free arm around T'mic, settling it comfortably around the other man's waist. "Yeah, I know. And that's not a problem, let me know if you need me to cover for you when you go." His hand walks up along Mic's shoulder and toys a little with the short curls at the nape of his weyrmate's neck. "She does seem to go for them, see maybe you should've moved to Fort after all," the brownrider teases.
Another yawn and Mic leans into the brownrider, both hands needed to hold his klah. "Yeah, I will. Told her she could come over, too." When Paddy's hand goes roaming his does too, exploring his weyrmate's knee and the soft skin of his inner thigh, only to pause when the greenrider snickers. "Should've, maybe - but there's this guy, he moved to Ista, and you know Aath. Then she would've gone for Bendenites, or something. --How's Jekzith, by the way? Didn't hurt himself?"
"Mmm, always good to indulge Aath a little," P'draig says agreeably and tilts his head towards Mic's. Wandering fingers draw out a quiet exhalation of pleasure. "Yeah, crazy guy moving to a tropical island where it's never cool," the brownrider jokes back. "Go figure, fickle Aath," is further teased. Paddy lifts his head and sips from his mug, nods a few times while swallowing. "Oh he's fine, no, no injuries. He slept for a good long while though."
"Like she doesn't get indulged enough," Mic snorts, fond still, and has some klah, nodding to Paddy's words. "Good. Know he gets a little... I dunno. Carried away? Not that it isn't sweet, or appreciated!" "--What time is it? Did you say already? I should probably get some breakfast, get a real bath, change clothes." Not that he makes so much as a single move to stand.
"When the lady's just been won in a flight, I think she's allowed," P'draig says with a chuckle and takes another drink. "He always throws himself into flights," the brownrider says agreeably. "ABout an hour past sunrise now," Paddy informs. "And oh! Shorts." A finger held up and the Weyrlingmaster heads over to the desk and pulls out a spare pair of shorts. "Here, for wandering around until you get changed. They might be a little loose on you, but they're drawstring at least."
Lobbing the shorts over to Mic, P'draig takes another mouthful of klah from his mug, then sets it down on the desk and crosses back over to the greenrider to slide his arms around him, press a kiss to his forehead. "I /love/ you wandering around without pants. The rest of the Weyr, I can't vouch for," he says laughingly and nods. "Okay, if you think you need to. I'll give you the run-down later after I've touched base with D'pry."
Little do the weyrlings suspect that months and months of catching firestone will also be good practice for catching other things thrown at one, like replacement shorts. "Could always just not get cleaned up and fed right away, maybe take another nap in here while you're trying to keep your mind on those weyrlings...," T'mic teases, making the fabric dance in the air. But no, he's being good, and after another sip of klah it's time to figure out which bit is the front.
Laughing, P'draig eyes the half-open door. "I could always close the door ... for just a /little/ while," the brownrider says with a wicked little grin. "Otherwise I might never be able to concentrate," he jokes and reaches over to turn the shorts the right way.
Would Mic spread his knees and ooch forward to the edge of the cot while they both struggle with those tricky, difficult shorts? ...Of course he would. But no, he's being (mostly) good, and though he throws devilish looks over at his weyrmate, he steps into the oversized pants and only stands up to get them fastened. Really. Poor libido. "Later," he promises, bending to plant a quick kiss on the brownrider's forehead. "You be good, I'll see you in a couple of hours, a'right?"
With Mic dressed, P'draig just smiles, touches his hand to Mic's cheek fondly. "I'm always good," he quips back amusedly then walks back over to the desk to look through notes left there, then track back outward to check in with D'pry and check on cots before rousing anyone still sleeping for morning exercises.
When: Morning after Aath's flight
Where: Weyrlingmaster's Office, Ista Weyr
What: Paddy takes care of Mic the morning after Aath's latest flight.
Early morning and only a few weyrlings are awake - few enough that even D'pry can handle them without completely falling down on the job, though he sends the Weyrlingmaster a wide-eyed look over the oil bins. Still, whatever has him riled wasn't quite bad enough to send word through the dragons, so...
Paddy yawns, tilts his head from side to side and rubs at the crick in his neck, squints at D'pry for a moment. "Morning," he muster chipperly though. "How'd it go last night?"
"Uh," the bluerider starts, and jerks his head toward the office like that will fill in the rest of the missing sentence. "Morning, sir. You, uh, might want to check on him, sir. T'mic. He said it wasn't anything and I shouldn't worry but there's well um. A lot of." He swallows and glances pointedly over at Jenna and Onth who are pretending badly that they aren't eavesdropping. "Maybe you should just go in. Sir."
Another yawn and then P'draig is quirky a humorous look at D'pry. "Aath went up. I'm sure he's pretty tired out," the Weyrlingmaster replies with a little shake of his head, but he gives the younger man a little 'carry on' nod and heads into the office on quiet feet.
Paddy could enter the office with hobnail boots and playing the drums, and it probably wouldn't disturb Mic, who is crashed out on the cot. He managed to get his vest off and shorts unbuttoned before falling over, but it's probably not that which bothers the bluerider. No, it's probably the faint dried streaks of blood peeking out from under Mic's shorts and flaking off his belly that has D'pry looking about to bolt.
That /does/ lift Paddy's brows a touch, but clearly, Mic isn't bleeding to death so he calmly stokes up the little hearth and puts klah on to brew, then gets a bowl of water and a cloth and approaches the sleeping greenrider to take stock more fully of his weyrmate's condition.
Except for the clearly old smears, Mic does look quite hale and healthy. There's a bowl of water on the floor, long since cold, and a sodden rag over the edge, but the greenrider never got a chance to use either. As the scent of klah begins to fill the room he rouses, ever so slightly; his weight shifts and one arm falls off the side to land knuckles down with a faint clunk on the floor.
Gently reaching for that hand, P'draig tucks it back in place, then sets to carefully daubing off Mic's mid-section with /warm/ water. A little bit of soap and oil helps to lift up stubbornly clinging flecks as well and the weyrlingmaster's gray-blue gaze settles on Mic's face in the meantime, rather than other parts of his anatomy unless the cleansing requires closer attention.
T'mic shifts again and grunts faintly, his retrieved hand grasping after air. After one bout of washing there's a sliver of one blue eye, a faint smile, and a gentle hand wrapping about P'draig's wrist. "Morning - it's morning, right? Did I sleep too long? What time's it?"
P'draig's wide smile greets that sliver of blue and he leans forward to kiss the greenrider before he speaks. "It's morning, start of the day shift and no, you haven't slept too long, love," the brownrider states clearly. "Just looks like ... hm. That time of the month for your partner?" Quirky brows. "Because I can't imagine you screwed /anyone/ so hard it wound up causing bleeding, even after a flight."
Mic beams sweetly, sleepily, his free hand curling about the back of the brownrider's neck. "Mmm," he agrees, pushing his shorts down further. "Yeah. First time her brown caught, too. And Aath was too wrapped up to lemme come home. I was gonna take a bath, but guess I just crashed, huh? How about you? You all right?"
Turning his face into Mic's wrist, Paddy places a kiss there, then sets down bowl and rag temporarily to help with the removal of shorts. "I'll get you a change of clothing in a second," he notes. "Shells, that must've been a doozy for her then. She's all right?" Brows lift again then P'draig laughs, nods. "I'm fine. Took Bennath's rider, Phara for a little spin under the trees, then she came up with me. She's still sleeping but will probably head back to Fort as soon as she wakes up." With those shorts off now, P'draig goes back to cleaning. For once there's nothing naughty in his methodology either.
Mic echoes, "Phara?" before the tricky business of shorts removal absorbs all his attention. After that, he stays quiet longer while Paddy cleans, trying to place... "Oh! The one who doesn't like flights. I remember her. Bennath caught Aath... few months ago? Last turn? Something like that. You think I shouldn't run back home, then? Wait a little, for her to wake up and go?"
"Yeah, that one," P'draig answers as daubing continues and the brownrider finishes up getting rid of the mess. "Mm. Give her a little leeway, maybe," is suggestd, then Paddy, sets the rag down in the bowl and rises. "Be right back, you relax. Want some klah or do you want to stay sleepy enough to go back to sleep at home?"
Mic arches and twists under the ministrations, but he - like P'draig - isn't trying to make anything more of them. For once. When the brownrider finishes he settles back, hands laced behind his head, content to watch. "Mmm... remind me - am I scheduled today? Or, well, tonight I guess, right? Should probably stay up for a little bit and sleep more this afternoon."
"You're not, but if you want to be on duty you can be," P'draig says with a look over his shoulder as he dumps the bowl and washes his hands off before going to pour out two mugs of klah. Returning to Mic's side, the Weyrlingmaster perches on the edge of the cot and holds out one mug to his weyrmate. "Other than tired, all back to normal?"
While P'draig's away Mic smothers a yawn, plumps his pillow and grudgingly swings his legs over the edge of the cot. Now there's room for both of them to sit! "Mmm, yeah," he says, accepting the klah with a nod. "She's still dozing - hasn't noticed he's gone yet. I told... Ro? Rhodya! Anyway, told her I'd try to get to Fort the next few days. You know what she's like, afterward, and he's about the same. She seems to like the Fortian males, 've you noticed?"
Once the klah's passed off, P'draig slips his free arm around T'mic, settling it comfortably around the other man's waist. "Yeah, I know. And that's not a problem, let me know if you need me to cover for you when you go." His hand walks up along Mic's shoulder and toys a little with the short curls at the nape of his weyrmate's neck. "She does seem to go for them, see maybe you should've moved to Fort after all," the brownrider teases.
Another yawn and Mic leans into the brownrider, both hands needed to hold his klah. "Yeah, I will. Told her she could come over, too." When Paddy's hand goes roaming his does too, exploring his weyrmate's knee and the soft skin of his inner thigh, only to pause when the greenrider snickers. "Should've, maybe - but there's this guy, he moved to Ista, and you know Aath. Then she would've gone for Bendenites, or something. --How's Jekzith, by the way? Didn't hurt himself?"
"Mmm, always good to indulge Aath a little," P'draig says agreeably and tilts his head towards Mic's. Wandering fingers draw out a quiet exhalation of pleasure. "Yeah, crazy guy moving to a tropical island where it's never cool," the brownrider jokes back. "Go figure, fickle Aath," is further teased. Paddy lifts his head and sips from his mug, nods a few times while swallowing. "Oh he's fine, no, no injuries. He slept for a good long while though."
"Like she doesn't get indulged enough," Mic snorts, fond still, and has some klah, nodding to Paddy's words. "Good. Know he gets a little... I dunno. Carried away? Not that it isn't sweet, or appreciated!" "--What time is it? Did you say already? I should probably get some breakfast, get a real bath, change clothes." Not that he makes so much as a single move to stand.
"When the lady's just been won in a flight, I think she's allowed," P'draig says with a chuckle and takes another drink. "He always throws himself into flights," the brownrider says agreeably. "ABout an hour past sunrise now," Paddy informs. "And oh! Shorts." A finger held up and the Weyrlingmaster heads over to the desk and pulls out a spare pair of shorts. "Here, for wandering around until you get changed. They might be a little loose on you, but they're drawstring at least."
Lobbing the shorts over to Mic, P'draig takes another mouthful of klah from his mug, then sets it down on the desk and crosses back over to the greenrider to slide his arms around him, press a kiss to his forehead. "I /love/ you wandering around without pants. The rest of the Weyr, I can't vouch for," he says laughingly and nods. "Okay, if you think you need to. I'll give you the run-down later after I've touched base with D'pry."
Little do the weyrlings suspect that months and months of catching firestone will also be good practice for catching other things thrown at one, like replacement shorts. "Could always just not get cleaned up and fed right away, maybe take another nap in here while you're trying to keep your mind on those weyrlings...," T'mic teases, making the fabric dance in the air. But no, he's being good, and after another sip of klah it's time to figure out which bit is the front.
Laughing, P'draig eyes the half-open door. "I could always close the door ... for just a /little/ while," the brownrider says with a wicked little grin. "Otherwise I might never be able to concentrate," he jokes and reaches over to turn the shorts the right way.
Would Mic spread his knees and ooch forward to the edge of the cot while they both struggle with those tricky, difficult shorts? ...Of course he would. But no, he's being (mostly) good, and though he throws devilish looks over at his weyrmate, he steps into the oversized pants and only stands up to get them fastened. Really. Poor libido. "Later," he promises, bending to plant a quick kiss on the brownrider's forehead. "You be good, I'll see you in a couple of hours, a'right?"
With Mic dressed, P'draig just smiles, touches his hand to Mic's cheek fondly. "I'm always good," he quips back amusedly then walks back over to the desk to look through notes left there, then track back outward to check in with D'pry and check on cots before rousing anyone still sleeping for morning exercises.