[Vignette] Guy time
Some cursing.
Was meant to be a quick jaunt to the Reaches and back again; no more than an hour, tops.
All he needed was a signature, something insignificant, someone's express permission -- something to do with a foster? D'kai wasn't entirely certain, but he was deeply pleased to be out with Mickey doing something ... nonessential. Guy time. Hadn't had enough guy time, not with all the shuttling back and forth, wedding arrangements, gruntwork on the docks, days out on the boat -- not that he didn't enjoy that either but that was a different kind of guy time.
Not that he'd admit it, but Deke has missed Mickey, if such a thing were possible, as though the bronze weren't just a thought away. But Mikhuth'd insisted: family was the important thing, and no matter how much D'kai would protest that Mickey was just as much family as his blood relatives, the dragon would blithely wing off to “allow” his lifemate “time alone” with his kin.
Get back here, you bastard!
Deke would never share the thought with anyone, (anyone but Mickey, of course) but after so much time at the Weyr, so much time in his own weyr, he found the close quarters of his home almost suffocating. Oppressive. He'd escape to the fishing boat with his father and brothers and only then, with only the waves and the net and the rocking planking underfoot, would he feel the relief of solitude and silence. Even drills at Fort, while familiar, were trying, knowing that as soon as they'd be done it would only a hop between to work until the sun set.
At night, Mikhuth would come to retrieve him, but the man would be too exhausted for anything but a blink between, a stumble through his dark weyr, and dead sleep. Anticipation of tomorrow's daily routine.
So: to the Reaches. Deke had even convinced Mickey to fly straight for a while, just flying, the two of them, and it was as exhilarating as the first time. They bantered and ribbed and taunted and flew, and it was good, just like it was supposed to be -- guy time -- but not even Mikhuth could fly all the way to High Reaches so eventually it was that the pair flickered into existence above the tall, dark spires.
Mikhuth trumpeted a brazen greeting, and spun lazily down to the bowl. At once, after D'kai had stripped him of his straps, the bronze shambled off with only the distant tinkling of gypsy bells, faint, in his wake, head angled upward at a smudge of green on the Star Stones high above.
You jackass son of a --
“So much for spending all day together,” Deke muttered, burying his nose into the lining of his jacket, but rolled the hide between his hands and set toward the lower caverns.
Mid-afternoon.
It was just bad timing, surely. And that D'kai couldn't find the man for quite some time, (though why wouldn't the rider have thought to look first in the Snowasis?), by the time he finally did manage to get ink to hide on the dotted line, it was too late.
At some point, surely when his lifemate just wasn't paying attention, Mikhuth's faint plinking of bells and drifting campsmoke had turn to the rakish, bawdy wail of gypsy flute and trumpet, the twist of hips and bare feet on the ground, bare feet under sheets. And when D'kai did notice --
Shit! You keep your sorry, horny ass on the ground, Mikhuth, we're leaving now. Now. Can find a green to chase at home.
Naturally, the bronze ignored him, minding his rider long enough only to share the slick sensation of fingers on skin, velvet on bare legs. D'kai cursed his frustration and thumped the heel of his hand against his forehead, to the surprise of his companion just finishing up with the paperwork.
“Ah, excuse me, sir, pardon me. Having a bit of dragon trouble, you understand I'm sure. Have a pleasant -- drink, sir.” With a wan smile, the bronzerider peeled the hide off the counter, crammed it into its tube, stuck it into his belt, and bolted out the door for the bowl.
He didn't see the wing of weyrlings lift up, away, and disappear /between/, only that glint of green suspended in the sky. Didn't see the others converging on the pens.
Mikhuth was paying attention, but not to D'kai, and certainly not his ineffective cussing.
I hope your Faranth-cursed tail falls off! -- ohh, Mickey. This last, a sigh of capitulation even as D'kai dips his head, follows the footsteps laid ahead of him to the guest weyr.
Vrianth is making her plunge toward the scattering herdbeasts, and the bronze is leeeeaning outward, stretching his forepaws out to plunge into the dirt and knead, reddened gaze fixed on the green. Whipcord tail snapping, his talons eagerly rasping at loam, Mikhuth is ready for the moment that second 'beast goes down and Vrianth goes up.
--
Lazily, when it is all over, Mickey slides satin-smooth silk across D'kai's mind, weaving acrid smoke into his lifemate, hints of tambourine rattling quietly behind the haze. Utterly exhausted. Utterly satisfied.
Shamelessly smug, 'n how's tha' for 'guy time', then, mate?
Was meant to be a quick jaunt to the Reaches and back again; no more than an hour, tops.
All he needed was a signature, something insignificant, someone's express permission -- something to do with a foster? D'kai wasn't entirely certain, but he was deeply pleased to be out with Mickey doing something ... nonessential. Guy time. Hadn't had enough guy time, not with all the shuttling back and forth, wedding arrangements, gruntwork on the docks, days out on the boat -- not that he didn't enjoy that either but that was a different kind of guy time.
Not that he'd admit it, but Deke has missed Mickey, if such a thing were possible, as though the bronze weren't just a thought away. But Mikhuth'd insisted: family was the important thing, and no matter how much D'kai would protest that Mickey was just as much family as his blood relatives, the dragon would blithely wing off to “allow” his lifemate “time alone” with his kin.
Get back here, you bastard!
Deke would never share the thought with anyone, (anyone but Mickey, of course) but after so much time at the Weyr, so much time in his own weyr, he found the close quarters of his home almost suffocating. Oppressive. He'd escape to the fishing boat with his father and brothers and only then, with only the waves and the net and the rocking planking underfoot, would he feel the relief of solitude and silence. Even drills at Fort, while familiar, were trying, knowing that as soon as they'd be done it would only a hop between to work until the sun set.
At night, Mikhuth would come to retrieve him, but the man would be too exhausted for anything but a blink between, a stumble through his dark weyr, and dead sleep. Anticipation of tomorrow's daily routine.
So: to the Reaches. Deke had even convinced Mickey to fly straight for a while, just flying, the two of them, and it was as exhilarating as the first time. They bantered and ribbed and taunted and flew, and it was good, just like it was supposed to be -- guy time -- but not even Mikhuth could fly all the way to High Reaches so eventually it was that the pair flickered into existence above the tall, dark spires.
Mikhuth trumpeted a brazen greeting, and spun lazily down to the bowl. At once, after D'kai had stripped him of his straps, the bronze shambled off with only the distant tinkling of gypsy bells, faint, in his wake, head angled upward at a smudge of green on the Star Stones high above.
You jackass son of a --
“So much for spending all day together,” Deke muttered, burying his nose into the lining of his jacket, but rolled the hide between his hands and set toward the lower caverns.
Mid-afternoon.
It was just bad timing, surely. And that D'kai couldn't find the man for quite some time, (though why wouldn't the rider have thought to look first in the Snowasis?), by the time he finally did manage to get ink to hide on the dotted line, it was too late.
At some point, surely when his lifemate just wasn't paying attention, Mikhuth's faint plinking of bells and drifting campsmoke had turn to the rakish, bawdy wail of gypsy flute and trumpet, the twist of hips and bare feet on the ground, bare feet under sheets. And when D'kai did notice --
Shit! You keep your sorry, horny ass on the ground, Mikhuth, we're leaving now. Now. Can find a green to chase at home.
Naturally, the bronze ignored him, minding his rider long enough only to share the slick sensation of fingers on skin, velvet on bare legs. D'kai cursed his frustration and thumped the heel of his hand against his forehead, to the surprise of his companion just finishing up with the paperwork.
“Ah, excuse me, sir, pardon me. Having a bit of dragon trouble, you understand I'm sure. Have a pleasant -- drink, sir.” With a wan smile, the bronzerider peeled the hide off the counter, crammed it into its tube, stuck it into his belt, and bolted out the door for the bowl.
He didn't see the wing of weyrlings lift up, away, and disappear /between/, only that glint of green suspended in the sky. Didn't see the others converging on the pens.
Mikhuth was paying attention, but not to D'kai, and certainly not his ineffective cussing.
I hope your Faranth-cursed tail falls off! -- ohh, Mickey. This last, a sigh of capitulation even as D'kai dips his head, follows the footsteps laid ahead of him to the guest weyr.
Vrianth is making her plunge toward the scattering herdbeasts, and the bronze is leeeeaning outward, stretching his forepaws out to plunge into the dirt and knead, reddened gaze fixed on the green. Whipcord tail snapping, his talons eagerly rasping at loam, Mikhuth is ready for the moment that second 'beast goes down and Vrianth goes up.
--
Lazily, when it is all over, Mickey slides satin-smooth silk across D'kai's mind, weaving acrid smoke into his lifemate, hints of tambourine rattling quietly behind the haze. Utterly exhausted. Utterly satisfied.
Shamelessly smug, 'n how's tha' for 'guy time', then, mate?