Vignette: Stupid, Stupid, Stupid
What: After Safriath's flight, Paddy takes care of business and is very pissed off at himself.
Jekzith hadn't had any lasting damage from the bump up in the sky with Visigoth. It hadn't taken long to figure out that out, though Paddy was half out of his mind from frustrated longing, the adrenaline surge from jumping Ch'son and the backwash of disappointment and pain from Jekzith himself.
There were some bumps and bruises, a spot where either a talon or pinion had left a scratch that wasn't deep at all. A layer of numbweed and a bit of bandaging stuck to it were all that was needed. That and a lot of soothing, aided and abetted by a willingly snuggly Aath.
After the second adrenaline crash, Mic dragged him away bodily for home and tended to his weyrmate with all of the usual enthusiasm and thorough care that the greenrider was capable of. Multiple times. Until they both literally couldn't move and Paddy could feel the sweat from his back soaking through to the mattress. Too tired, he just lay there, soaking and trembling with his eyes closed and fell into a dead sleep.
Several hours later, he woke up in the dark with the light of the moons dappling the ledge of the weyr, rather than the floor of the cothold and his head turned, gaze captured by the dancing specks of light. It took a little while until he felt like he could even roll out of the bed, legs still a little rubbery to go in search of water. Three glasses later, he leaned against the cool stone of the weyr's walls and looked over at Mic, still sprawled out and fast asleep in the mess of their bed. That's about when his brain caught up to the rest of him and P'draig groaned audibly, actually smacked his forehead into his palm. "Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. You fucking /idiot/."
How could he ever stand up in front of a class of weyrlings and lecture them about control after /that/ partcular little display. He worked his jaw a little, realized it hurt. Swollen. There was probably a mark. He didn't bother to go check it out in the mirror, but he did pour cool water onto a cloth and held it up to the sore spot, wandered out into the wallow where Jekzith's eyes gleamed over the curve of Aath's neck.
<< I'm okay, >> the brown let him know, though there was something mournful in his tone.
What is it Jek?
The motley brown's wings rustled a little as Paddy drew nearer, ran fond hands up along his muzzle towards headknobs.
<< It would've been nice to have eggs again, >> Jekzith admitted softly, almost sheepishly and floated a bubble with an indistinct image of black sands studded with white eggs into his rider's head.
"Oh, Jekzith ..." Paddy murmured aloud and let the cloth fall to the floor, wrapped his arms up around the brown's neck as far as he could reach and pressed his cheek against his dragon's. "Oh my dear," he choked out, voice full of emotion suddenly.
<< I love our little ones. The ones you've made with your mates. But I miss having mine. Maybe someday there'll be eggs again. >>
P'draig squeezed his eyes shut and let his love for Jekzith roll outward, wind around his brown with all the support he could muster. He didn't step away again until the brown had drifted back into dreams. Dreams of elusive golden tails and eggs in sands and the quiet pleasure of turning them around within the warmth of sandy hollows.
Out on the ledge, a faint breeze stirred, drying sweat that still clung to the brownrider's body. He looked up at the moons and sighed softly, finally let his own conflicted emotions swim to the fore now that the overwhelming lust had left him and his dragon was recovering from frustration and disappointed sorrow.
He didn't want to be Weyrleader. He especially didn't want the mess that might come from a lowly brown winning the senior queen's flight. He'd have all too gladly punted the position if by some fluke, Jekzith had actually won. He'd been angry at Jekzith for getting into the flight in the first place. He was angry at himself, for the failure to pin the brown back to the ground and keep him there. He was angry at himself for losing control, for letting things that he damn knew better about get the better of him. Just as it had been nearly twenty turns ago now, when Faldaverth had risen in her maiden flight, Jekzith had pushed too hard and hurt himself because his rider's feelings were too involved. He'd wrenched a wing in that flight so long ago. He had other more minor injuries from this one, all because of his rider's runaway emotions. Paddy kicked himself again mentally and made himself a promise that it wouldn't ever happen again. He hadn't figured out the how yet, but he would make sure it never happened again.
Some tension eased out of his frame and Paddy turned back into the weyr, carefully stripped one sheet out from beneath his weyrmate, folded up some towels to slide between the mattress and the new sheet he put on the bed. Mic stirred a little in his sleep, as P'draig moved fresh, cool cloth up beneath him. He mumbled indistinctly, hand flexing instinctively for his weyrmate and Paddy soothed him with gentle touch. He curled up alongside the starfished greenrider again and snuck in under one of his arms, finally let himself drift back off to sleep, breathing in a little patch of his weyrmate's skin.
Jekzith hadn't had any lasting damage from the bump up in the sky with Visigoth. It hadn't taken long to figure out that out, though Paddy was half out of his mind from frustrated longing, the adrenaline surge from jumping Ch'son and the backwash of disappointment and pain from Jekzith himself.
There were some bumps and bruises, a spot where either a talon or pinion had left a scratch that wasn't deep at all. A layer of numbweed and a bit of bandaging stuck to it were all that was needed. That and a lot of soothing, aided and abetted by a willingly snuggly Aath.
After the second adrenaline crash, Mic dragged him away bodily for home and tended to his weyrmate with all of the usual enthusiasm and thorough care that the greenrider was capable of. Multiple times. Until they both literally couldn't move and Paddy could feel the sweat from his back soaking through to the mattress. Too tired, he just lay there, soaking and trembling with his eyes closed and fell into a dead sleep.
Several hours later, he woke up in the dark with the light of the moons dappling the ledge of the weyr, rather than the floor of the cothold and his head turned, gaze captured by the dancing specks of light. It took a little while until he felt like he could even roll out of the bed, legs still a little rubbery to go in search of water. Three glasses later, he leaned against the cool stone of the weyr's walls and looked over at Mic, still sprawled out and fast asleep in the mess of their bed. That's about when his brain caught up to the rest of him and P'draig groaned audibly, actually smacked his forehead into his palm. "Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. You fucking /idiot/."
How could he ever stand up in front of a class of weyrlings and lecture them about control after /that/ partcular little display. He worked his jaw a little, realized it hurt. Swollen. There was probably a mark. He didn't bother to go check it out in the mirror, but he did pour cool water onto a cloth and held it up to the sore spot, wandered out into the wallow where Jekzith's eyes gleamed over the curve of Aath's neck.
<< I'm okay, >> the brown let him know, though there was something mournful in his tone.
What is it Jek?
The motley brown's wings rustled a little as Paddy drew nearer, ran fond hands up along his muzzle towards headknobs.
<< It would've been nice to have eggs again, >> Jekzith admitted softly, almost sheepishly and floated a bubble with an indistinct image of black sands studded with white eggs into his rider's head.
"Oh, Jekzith ..." Paddy murmured aloud and let the cloth fall to the floor, wrapped his arms up around the brown's neck as far as he could reach and pressed his cheek against his dragon's. "Oh my dear," he choked out, voice full of emotion suddenly.
<< I love our little ones. The ones you've made with your mates. But I miss having mine. Maybe someday there'll be eggs again. >>
P'draig squeezed his eyes shut and let his love for Jekzith roll outward, wind around his brown with all the support he could muster. He didn't step away again until the brown had drifted back into dreams. Dreams of elusive golden tails and eggs in sands and the quiet pleasure of turning them around within the warmth of sandy hollows.
Out on the ledge, a faint breeze stirred, drying sweat that still clung to the brownrider's body. He looked up at the moons and sighed softly, finally let his own conflicted emotions swim to the fore now that the overwhelming lust had left him and his dragon was recovering from frustration and disappointed sorrow.
He didn't want to be Weyrleader. He especially didn't want the mess that might come from a lowly brown winning the senior queen's flight. He'd have all too gladly punted the position if by some fluke, Jekzith had actually won. He'd been angry at Jekzith for getting into the flight in the first place. He was angry at himself, for the failure to pin the brown back to the ground and keep him there. He was angry at himself for losing control, for letting things that he damn knew better about get the better of him. Just as it had been nearly twenty turns ago now, when Faldaverth had risen in her maiden flight, Jekzith had pushed too hard and hurt himself because his rider's feelings were too involved. He'd wrenched a wing in that flight so long ago. He had other more minor injuries from this one, all because of his rider's runaway emotions. Paddy kicked himself again mentally and made himself a promise that it wouldn't ever happen again. He hadn't figured out the how yet, but he would make sure it never happened again.
Some tension eased out of his frame and Paddy turned back into the weyr, carefully stripped one sheet out from beneath his weyrmate, folded up some towels to slide between the mattress and the new sheet he put on the bed. Mic stirred a little in his sleep, as P'draig moved fresh, cool cloth up beneath him. He mumbled indistinctly, hand flexing instinctively for his weyrmate and Paddy soothed him with gentle touch. He curled up alongside the starfished greenrider again and snuck in under one of his arms, finally let himself drift back off to sleep, breathing in a little patch of his weyrmate's skin.