Start to finish
Jensen went out and used internet magics and found three lovely new userpics for me. Yay! Thanks, Jensen! Here is one example, along with a log I made solely to display it.
1-18/19-2007 (Issa, Reyce):
Snow kicks up to join the intermittent flakes already falling as Oshisyth backwings to land with her usual absent-minded but small jolt, but it falls and settles around them all again quickly as her passengers dismount. Without straps to bother with after their late dinner, Issa just swings her leg over and slides down the green hide to hit the stone, the soles of her boots letting out a loud stomp as she lands it with ease. She doesn't go ahead of Reyce into the weyr, though, instead turning back to him. Suddenly, her hands shoot up to his shoulders, using that hold to brace herself as she hops up and wraps her legs around his waist. "I'm tired," she explains as, clinging closer, she nuzzles her nose into the bare skin peeking over the neck of his coat. "Carry me," she requests then, as if she was giving him much of a choice save for peeling her off.
Reyce's clothing rustles when Issa jumps into him, the inside lining of that heavy coat rubbing up against the longcoat and leather jacket tucked within. For his own part, the Bendenite only grunts as his arms wrap around her, bracing her before she can slip off his intractable coat. Another grunt acknowledges her (pointless) request before he sets off through the curtain, giving her a toss to keep her placed well up on his torso when he frees a hand to pull the curtain aside and step through. Within, the fire has died out completely, and Reyce considers it only for a moment before turning away, going to the curtain to her inner weyr and jerking that open. With no fire outside, and only the dark night beyond it, the bedroom is pitch black. By now, Reyce doesn't need light to know where everything is, and as he bends forward to lay Issa down on the end of her bed his mouth tilts in to murmur, "Tired?" right next to her ear.
Issa, absorbed in her lazy nuzzling, spares not a single thought for their ultimate destination until she catches a glimpse of a second curtain being pulled aside. He head lifts to mark the passing, but there's no comment for it; unless you count the thoughtful hum she lifts into his ear as her eyes roam around their surroundings, dark as they are. "Tired," she confirms for him. "But I probably could stay up and," cue the drawn, exaggerated yawn, "talk." That word gets separated out not only by the yawn, but by her crisp and smiling pronunciation, turned into his cheek. "For a while. If you want." Arms and legs unwrap simultaneously, but her hands don't break away completely, snagging the collar of his outer coat to make sure he knows he's coming with her when she pushes herself further up the bed.
Reyce begins to lean back when Issa unwraps from him, but the hands on his collar prevent him from going very far. Bent double, and held that way, he shuffles back towards the bed and lifts a knee onto it, his weight rolling down that corner of the mattress as he shifts fully onto that knee. The other soon follows, although he reaches up to free himself of the grip around his collar so he can move independently, rolling aside to take up the space next to her. "Talk," he muses softly, the word delayed by all their shifting around on the bed. A low breath of laughter, its source unexplained, trails the word as he slips his arm over her waist and gives her a shake towards himself. "If you want," he echoes. He clunks his boots together in the darkness, trying to scrape them off before he moves any further up the bed.
Issa arches up, moving the least amount possible while still ridding herself of that heavy coat. Once off, though, it doesn't get tossed aside but dragged over on top of her instead, an impromptu blanket since they're pinning down the others. Then she goes about the same task only a bit delayed, turning to him as she kicks off her shoes. "Have you ever been to Ista?" she wonders, her far hand slung across him, fingers weaseling their way past the layers to find the sweater beneath them and pressing across his stomach to take advantage of the heat kept close there.
Reyce punctuates her words with the thunk of a boot dropping to the floor. He keeps his boots laced very tightly, and pushing them off this way is almost more of a chore than just untying them; still, he keeps at it, rolling to his beck and bending up as his freed foot goes to push at the boot that remains. "No," he exhales, along with a push that knocks the boot mostly off. Another kick serves to throw it off the rest of the way, and this time the thunk comes on wood as it hits the wardrobe before falling to the floor. Trapping her hand on his stomach, he brings it with him as he scoots up the bed, putting his face next to hers for whatever it's worth in the dark. "Ista?" There's the slight motion of an eyebrow going up.
"Mmhmm," Issa hums, giving him nothing more for that raised eyebrow than that. Her boots fall seconds after his, sounding with smaller thunks against the stone as they bounce to a stop. She rolls up onto her side and aids his pull with a few scoots of her own, that other hand spared to make sure that the coat covering her shoulders comes with them. Before she'll flop down after him, though, her captured hand steals back to peel back the flaps of his multiple layers; only then will she bounce down flush against him, taking up that bubble of cool space she's created. "Have you ever wanted to?" After that effort, she makes no other move toward stripping. She's tired, remember.
Reyce's multiple layers are already proving too much, inside the warmth of the inner sanctum. He lifts into her hand as she peels back the flaps of his coats, but when she stops there and lays her head down, he has to move it again. "Not really," he admits, as he lifts her cheek away gently and rolls his arm out of the confining coats. They come off en masse, all the way down to the leather jacket, and en masse he shifts around to pull them off the other shoulder. "You want to?" he asks with his back turned towards her. He tilts his chin over his shoulder to watch her response (what he can see of it), but his hands continue to rustle with clothing as he pushes the jackets away to create an empty version of himself in the bundle of jackets laid out next to him.
Issa lifts at his insistence, only a tiny, muffled humming noise to mark her reluctance to sit up even that little distance. She plants her forearm flat against the mattress to brace her new, more upright lounging position and watches the progress. "I'm going to," she corrects when his turning face prompts an answer, her tone conveying the sneaking smile the darkness masks.
Reyce interrupts her lounging to slim an arm over hers, cupping the hand around to hold the back of her head. Jackets moved away, he inches back towards her and pulls gently on her head to bring her back to him. "Okay," he answers, in a tone so plain as to suggest he missed the smile in her voice. Once he has her head back, however, he curls his chin down and murmurs to her, "Why?" in a voice that hints amusement.
"Oh, I don't know," Issa responds, her tone still fraught with sneaking mirth as she adjusts to press her ear back down to his chest, one arm creeping out from under her draped jacket to smooth that same line it took earlier across his abdomen. "I think I could use a vacation. Some sun. Some swimming, some laying in the sand. Some delving into records to find proof of a greenrider I know doesn't exist. Just a little relaxation, you know." Soon that slowly groped line culminates where his body meets the bed, and turns to track downward , dissatisfied with that end.
Somewhere in the midst of sun, swimming, and laying around, Reyce makes a connection. Somewhere. He gives a small snort to announce it, dropping his head back into the mattress and staring up at the dark ceiling. "Yeah." Yeah, he knows. Shifting beneath the tracings of her hand, he lifts himself into something that becomes a long stretch, his arm pulling her tight to his chest so she won't slip away while he moves. "Telgar?" he wonders, in a voice gone high with the strain on his lungs as he inhales with his motion. Displeased with that sound, Reyce makes a heavy sound in his throat and drops back with a low grunt that reestablishes the depth of his voice.
"Yeah," Issa confirms, making a tiny sucking noise against her teeth. Finally she finds something to entertain that wandering hand, fingers burrowing past the layers he still retains to find warm skin. For the first few seconds her fingernails scrape up, but the contact soon translates to fingertips instead, leading a meandering, sliding touch back up his side. "A sevenday or less, probably. Sometime soon."
Reyce's bare skin proves warm indeed, and he shivers at the contrasting cold of her touch. He doesn't object, though, even when the wandering contact brings goosebumps out on his skin. "I come with?" Up till now, he's left his free hand flopped out on the bed beside him, but now he wraps it back around and finds Issa's waist with it. Although his fingers wait for a moment on the outside of her shirt, the cold of them - he hasn't been wearing gloves, and this was the hand he used to hang on to Oshisyth when they rode - filters through the cloth.
Issa's muscles pull into a stretch under his touch, back arching to bring her tighter against him. "If you want," she says, echoing her earlier phrase playfully while tilting her chin up to peer through the darkness in front of his face. "I want you to," is how she changes it, pressing on. "After all, I expect I'll have time to do some exploring, at least. Search out a secluded beach." Her fingernails make an appearance on his skin again, scratching lines that converge on a single point then push out again. "I'll need /someone/ to carry the bags."
Reyce does not make humming noises to announce when he enjoys something, but the beat of silence following her words gives evidence enough of his distraction. The goosebumps have settled, the initial cold of her fingers already warmed against his skin, but he shivers again anyway when her fingernails go nova on him. Pause completed, he breathes out lightly and agrees, "Sure, Oshisyth can do that." His fingers slip quickly under her shirt, the five freezing points of them spread out like a star over her bare back. And while she's reacting to that, he's murmuring, "I'll come."
There's no hum for that cold slip of fingers against her back, but a rushed inhalation forms a half gasp that's breathed out in the form of several rolling chuckles. "You'll come?" Issa asks, feigning a beg for clarification only so she can color the words with the amount of innuendo they deserve. Her little laugh lingers, a subtle sound in the back of her throat as she reaches up with one hand, leaving the other free to create more shivers at his side, and places it down on the bed above his shoulder. With it, she twists herself over him, her coat falling away from her shoulders, saying as she does, "I'm glad." Her lips meet his with a smiling brush that suddenly moves deeper.
Reyce may well have been aiming for the union of that gasp and his easily reinterpreted choice of words, for he rolls out two breaths of laughter at the innuendo infusing her response. The points of his fingers roll little circles on her back, the beginnings of another tease that cuts off when she places the hand by his shoulder. His chin tilts towards it, watching the faintly deeper shadow that marks her location, and he lets his cold fingers slide across her skin when her next motion brings her to him. Loose at first, the grip of his arm tightens when she kisses him, a small noise escaping him as she transitions to a deeper kiss. He holds onto her mouth for a while, lifting his chin to follow her when she seems ready to pull away, and by the time he does finally let her go there's a self-satisfied smirk curving the last touch from his lips. "How soon?" he presses, tightening his arms again as though he might literally squeeze the answer from her.
And her answer comes on demand as Issa replies quickly, "I don't know. Soon as everything can be organized." Her head tilts, her curls tossed in the direction gravity takes them and making the way clearer for her to study the deep shadows of his face below her. "Just came off of a long string of 'falls, so I should be okay with the wing. Might throw the Weyrlingmaster off, but hopefully I can count on Roa to smooth things over if he says anything." In the dark, her face turns again so that she's now looking at the arm that holds her up as she slides her hand inch by inch down the top of the blanket. "I'm cold," she states, flipping the subject of the moment on its ear in order to assert that fact, "let's get under the covers." And she leads the way, peeling back the blanket she has ahold of as far as it will come with him still prone next to her. There's many readjustments needed, covers to draw back, legs to be brought up and pushed under, a coat to be tossed off the bed, and during them all, she turns back to the matter of Ista, asking, "Are you going to miss anything important in your classes?"
Reyce has to yield his grip on her during all the readjustments that take place, including his own scoot to lean up against the wall with his legs drawn up so he won't pin down the covers. He requires less fussing than she does, simply allowing his coats to fall where they may while he just throws back a corner of the blankets and drops under it. "Maybe," he admits, with an invisible shrug that the cloths that surround him hint at in the rustling they produce. "Don't care, except for math. Take that book with me." His voice grows unaccountably tight when he mentions the math, his words slipped out between gritted teeth. Yet he relaxes soon enough, inching his way towards Issa under the covers and rolling her back up in one arm.
Issa rolls up to him willingly, both arms curled in between them while her palms find their spots to flatten against his sweater. So close and eyes now more adjusted to interpreting shadows, she drops into studying his mouth as he rips out that mention. "You don't want to miss it, that's alright," she tells him, voice lowered into that comfortable murmur she's perfected on these cold nights huddled under the covers. "We can sneak away to secluded beaches another time."
Reyce gives a low breath, but it's not particularly amused. "Want to miss it," he assures her, twitching his chin forward so his nose touches hers. "And said I'd come." He lowers the contact, moving a leg forward to nudge hers with a knee. Less that prompt not be clear enough, he tries to clarify with a foot lifted over hers, dealing out a gentle stroke as he draws it in towards himself.
The slow breath Issa exhales, however, is most definitely amused, her smile broadening with a glimpse of teeth that shows despite the darkness. But something sneaks past that amusement, even as she entangles that leg with his and puts that one hand back into its caressing efforts again, fingers pulling the fabric as they migrate toward his hem once again. "Why do you want to miss it?"
Reyce sinks into a quiet sulk for a while, the evidence written in frowning shadows on his forehead and the shifting tension of his muscles under her touch. "Don't get it," he mutters eventually, and his murky tone gets added to the list of evidence proving his sulk. "Need to figure it out myself, take my own time." He exhales a breath heavily, then decides the better of it and draws it back in just as heavily. There, he holds it in his puffed cheeks for a few extra moments before popping out with a fast sigh. "Take that book with me," he says again.
"Good," Issa replies, one would hope to the comment about taking the book, her smile still secure despite his difficulty. Her hand pushes far up his shirt, holding back and skipping the caresses on the way. But the restraint doesn't last for long; she lets her fingers flow down his spine as they return to a more comfortable position along the small of his back. "I'm sure you'll have plenty of reading time on the beach when I'm out skinny-dipping."
Reyce stretches again as her fingers trace his spine, though it's a much less pronounced stretch than his last and ends in a simple puffed sigh, not an octave-high shift in his voice. But the small stretch has done its part for him, and his voice becomes easy again when he corrects her: "When you're searching records." A paced silence falls, controlled by a lingering note of tension on Reyce's part that precedes him saying, "Don't want to swim."
The smoothing of Issa's fingers, which, though pressured, stops just short of massaging, flickers to a halt and she peers up at him again. "Oh, why not?"
"Don't like it," Reyce answers simply. He rolls his shoulder back to send muscles rippling down his spine, carrying a message to her hand: go on. For all that he complains about hard massages, he welcomes these lighter touches.
And go on Issa does, but not after a pause for what scrutiny she can fit in with the shadowed space between them discouraging her efforts. "Okay," she responds finally, light and accepting, the motion of her fingers returning and pressing higher, her sleeve pressing against already travelled territory as she slips her hand in further. A pause of several moments follows and she fills it with only silent breathing and more of those lighter touches he encouraged, her head tucked up under his chin in the interim. "Reyce." His name invades that lagging moment quietly, rallying further murmured words. "Will you tell me something?"
Reyce twists his free arm around, finding hers and trailing up it to grab the end of her sleeve. His arm pulls down as it retreats, dragging the hem up to her elbow where he stops to push inwards, bringing the touch of her bare skin to his back. "Tell you what?" he grunts, distracted by the manipulations of her hand. Its job done, his own goes to settle low across her waist.
With her face hidden even further out of sight than the darkness would place it, Issa's delivery of the question she wants answered comes across as exceptionally blank, her tone tilted only by the slightest touch of musing. "Where did Lord Carlin first hear about the problem we were having with Nabol last turn?"
With facial expressions removed from the picture, Issa must rely on tension to guide her understanding of Reyce's mood. Fortunately he has a lot of it for that question, his muscles bulking up all along his back. He can't hide his response, so he doesn't bother trying; he adds to it with the low rumble of a growl that trembles above her head. "Probably when it started. You're asking when he got involved, was a group of refugees reached Benden in the sixth month. And you've been talking with the weyrwoman," he concludes, not bothering to segue, as the growl moves into his words.
Confronted with a wall of tensed muscles, Issa's hand slows to a stop in its caresses, resorting instead to pressing down a splayed handprint into the space between his shoulder blades. "Of course I have," she breathes, shifting her head to alter the lay of her curls against his neck. "I asked her. She told me what she suggested. And frankly, it's been the same thing that's been nagging at me since..." But he knows the rest, no need to go over it again. With a huff, the tiny headshake falling underneath his chin transfers into a full, drawing back movement, her face returning to full view and bringing with it her tight frown and pursed lips, her eyes struggling to find his. "Reyce," she says again, low and whispered, as her pressed hand flees his back. She brings it to his face instead, forcing his curls straight with the initial press of her fingers, the gesture quieting soon after with her palm resting lightly on his ear. "Tell me." Her voice begs nearly as strongly as her eyes, intent on his through the darkness. "Once. And then I won't ask again. Was it all his idea? Completely. Start to finish."
Her voice will have to work by itself, for Reyce's eyes slip closed as her words go on. His arm begins to shift beneath her, little tugs given as he tries to reclaim it, but there's no room for him to retreat and eventually he gives up on taking it back and just takes her with him. Elbow firmed, he rolls Issa onto his stomach as he drops back, opening his eyes to stare at the ceiling. Muscles shift and break out of the tension that holds them, though his breath becomes slightly shortened. The whites of his eyes flick back and forth, a pale echo of his scanning look as he lifts his hands to her face and braces his thumbs along her cheeks. "No." Just like that. But his fingers draw tight around her and his eyes fix steadily on hers. "But start to finish, he saw it through."
Issa sinks one hand into the mattress to brace her for that roll and it stays there to hold her slightly above him so she can keep her watchful stare. Her other hand sweeps up further on the other side to find a spot while he speaks, fingertips digging in as her hand curls around the end of his shoulder. Silent while he speaks, she stays that way for a long moment after he's finished. There's not such a marked difference when her words do come, though, her hushed voice slipping stealthily into the quiet with nothing more than a blink shrouded in darkness to signal its coming. "Did Roa have it right, then? Did you start it?"
Reyce sinks away into that long silence, his head falling back into the pillow and his eyes slipping closed again. Another pass from his thumb trails all the way down to the corner of her lip, pausing there before he draws his hands away and leaves her free to move as she likes. He lets his hands fall to the bed besides him, covers rustling as he draws them into a bunch at the center of his palms. "Yes," he answers, in a strangely pained voice. His head falls to the side and he tucks his chin down as it does, breathing into his sweater.
A breath is stolen out of her by that answer, rushing loudly over her lips, those following it made all the more silent with the loss. Issa turns her head down, nose and mouth both pressed against him just because he happens to be there, under her. Another pause, longer than the first spreads out between them, her grip on his shoulder gradually growing tighter as the silence continues. "Reyce," she says then, her breath shooting through the spaces in his sweater to find his skin. "Why the fuck wouldn't you tell me?" But it's not anger guiding those words; they're soft still, infused with a slow concern, her voice muffled deep in her throat as well as by the fabric of his sweater.
Reyce shifts uncomfortably beneath her, drawing up muscles in his shoulder to push at the tight grip she has on him. He drops the blankets in his palm, but although his hand raises towards her, it drops away before it gets near touching her. The palm now lies up, his arm flopped out as though abandoned. He's silent, shifting again, the thin sliver of white at his eyes betraying the fact that they're open, though squinted. "You don't want to know," he decides, opening his eyes the rest of the way. His head stays to the side but his focus slides up to meet her and stare at her face. He shifts, and every shift rolls her just a bare bit to the side, making it harder to stay on top, where he put her.
"No. No, I definitely do." Something harder slips into Issa's voice, lurking there under that double negation. She lifts her head from his chest, her face directed to meet that stare he turns up at her, her expression now heavily expectant. One of those shifts causes her to finally slide off, though she remains in almost full contact when she does; she slumps down onto an elbow right next to him and her shoulder-gripping hand slides down with her until its palm presses down over his ribcage and the breathing that lifts it.
The breathing only barely lifts it, Reyce's breath constrained to gentle silence played out in little puffs spaced at short, uneven intervals. He must lift his head to follow her when she slides off, but he moves no more than he has to, bringing her into view from the corners of his eyes and stopping there with his face once more aimed at the ceiling. "You don't want to know," he tells her again, but he adds this time, "what I think. You want Nabol to be - like you, flying for it. Heroes. Remember you telling me once you had other reasons. And remember you found out my father wasn't the hero you thought he was, suddenly wasn't anything. I didn't tell you," he concludes finally, "because I didn't want you to know." For all the clarity that may (not) give her, he closes off the last word with a definitive click of his teeth that announces he's done.
The fingers Issa has resting lightly on his chest twitch back into a loose curl with that tacked on addition to his earlier words, a motion that gradually draws tighter and tighter as he continues. She drops her gaze, though every attempt is made to conceal that fact, her face still turned toward him in the darkness while just the elusive gleam of her eyes is hidden, downturned. Tension continues to grow in her frame, forming faster than normal; a sudden flinching of her abs when he finishes is the beginning of her drawing away, stiffness falling swiftly over every point of contact as they slowly sink away. "Okay then," she utters in a strained whisper, her hand lifted away from him and placed behind her to assist in the withdrawal. Slowly she picks her way up and over his stretched arm, then settles under the covers on the other side. "Let's both just forget I said anything then," she says evenly, cold as the stone around them and just as hard, as her head settles to the pillow and she goes about pulling the covers up around her.
"Tired of you doing that." Those words register somewhere in the darkness, some time after she turned away to gather blankets about her. When she moved away, Reyce sat up, bringing his side of the covers up with him and letting cold air beneath them. He's cross-legged now, sitting in the center of the bed and still letting in cold air since he didn't bother to scoot back when he sat up. His fingers have pinched down around the edge of the blankets, but he keeps his grip loose and allows them to slide whenever she pulls them, the cloth whisked against his skin. "Tired of you hearing what you don't want so you say, forget it. You said something. I said something. Too late for any of that." Another flap of cold darts under the covers as Reyce finally pulls back from them, swinging his legs out and around to hang off the side of the bed. More blankets rustle and more scooting causes it while he moves to let himself off the high edge.
Issa curls away from him, the blankets balled into her fist and then pulled from him so she can gather them under her chin, leaving him with only her taut shoulders to stare at before he leaves the bed altogether. Her voice rises up from that position, cool as before and a trifle more cutting with, "What else am I supposed to say to that, Reyce?" But her voice cracks over the syllable of his name, leaving the last half of what was surely planned to be a sarcastic jab in shambles, revealing in short, shaky spurts the hurt that lays beneath it. "Help me here, because I'm..." Realizing how she sounds, she stops it with a swallow and finishes a second later, her tone regaining its firmness, though the harsh bite has softened. "At a loss."
Feet touch down on Reyce's side of the bed, a single sound muffled by his socks. At first he goes no further than to lean off the bed like that, holding still and silent while she speaks. Then the mattress shifts as he takes his weight off it completely and the padded sound of more footsteps carries across the room. The shadow of his form crosses behind the foot of the bed, then edges up the aisle to her side of it, the cedar smell of him preceding. At first tentative, he closes a hand tightly on her shoulder, using it to support himself as he leans his face over her head. "Am, too," he whispers, drawing his voice up tight. "What I didn't want. Get worse for us, because of it. Nabol. Want you, and did then, but - this happens." He slowly becomes aware of the growing tension in his fingers and springs them off her shoulder suddenly, leaving only his palm plessed flat to her shirt.
Issa's eyes have shut tight under an absent frown when he reaches her side of the bed, but she must have been following his motion somehow for she meets the touch on her shoulder with no more startle than a stone would have. After listening, her eyes slide open again, but it's the wall she looks to, not him. "So instead you just let me say... all those things, and make it worse myself?" she asks that wall, giving it her thread of guilt if she can't give it to Reyce himself.
She gives it to Reyce himself, though. His hand pulls off her shoulder and curls into his side as he steps back, straightening so he no longer leans over her. For a while, he says nothing, staring at the floor while his eyes dart back and forth, but the rustle of cloth as his hands dig into his pockets keeps the silence from settling too heavily. "Yeah," he admits once he's run out of pocket. "Did. Not why I did, but I did." He shifts a step back, blocking her view of the wall with his body as he leans up against it like a truant school kid.
"Comforting," Issa mumbles dryly, eyes tracking up his lean to find his face and there they stay, studying the shadows that define it for a long moment. "I do care, by the way," she states, a thin layer of bitterness veiling a more tender undercurrent. "What you think." And just when he's gained her gaze, she takes it back again, unraveling her curl slightly to roll onto her back and find the stone of the ceiling to stare at instead. Blankets rustle back down as she sighs, one of her arms lifted from underneath them to tuck her eyes, closed now, into the crook of her elbow, the hand draped listlessly over to her other side.
Reyce draws in a breath, a quick answer considered and discarded just as quickly. He drops it out with a sigh, knocking his head back so he, too, can stare at the ceiling. A swallow sounds before he moves again, kicking off the wall to return to her bedside. Not that it's much of a journey, with the room as small as it is. He touches her again, the backs of his knuckles leaned up along her cheek while it's laid out next to that elbow. In silence, unbothered by rustled clothing this time, he waits for her to look at him.
If it's eyes he's waiting on, he'll have to wait a little longer, for that slung arm doesn't stir in response to his touch. But she returns his touch sooner than that, her second hand surfacing from the furs to curl her knuckles under his fingers, her thumb pinning their hands together so she can draw them under her chin. Only then does her gaze slowly slide into view; the blocking arm pulls back, lifted then to reach and establish another guiding touch at his elbow, then her eyes flutter open to peer up. "Come back to bed," she says, low and simple, neither begging nor ordering. With a short scoot, she begins to make room for him on her side.
Reyce will take what he can get, and if it's a hand she'll give, it's a hand he'll take. He forgets to do anything with his own hand, letting it be curled about and moved wherever she places it; he stares at her eyes when she opens them, and follows her into the bed when she opens the blankets to him. Time spent out of the covers has already cooled his feet, but after a few quick, startling brushes of them as he settles in with her, he stretches his legs out to put them out of reach. "Want to talk, sometime," he says as he's moving, his focus allowed to wander down to the bed while he elbows himself a spot on the pillow. "You're not tired." He drops his head into the space he made, stopping there.
Issa pulls both of her arms back to her as he settles in beside her, one tucked under her pillow while the other lays along her side, mirroring her curves as she turns back onto her shoulder to face him. His request is greeted with something of a mixture of wary curiosity and, something he hasn't seen in quite a while, suspicion, both dimmed by the darkness. After a quick swallow, she tells him, "We're already talking," her voice more hesitant than her words would suggest. "Say whatever you want."
Even in darkness, Reyce reads the lines of wariness and suspicion written into her posture, and promptly turns his eyes down to avoid them. But, "Not bad," he assures her. An arm lays above the blanket, dropped along his side though much less artfully than Issa's, and when he speaks he lifts his fingers, thin shadows moving in the dark. "Try to just talk. Things I don't say, I - shit, hang on." His arm raises over his head, the muscles curled tight as he echoes her, hiding his chin behind the crook of an elbow. "Hang on," he whispers again, though it's hardly necessary. It's a good solid minute before he speaks again, but when he does the emotion leaks out of his voice and the tension leaves his arm. "I want to be the next Lord of Benden and Nabol was the first step. That's all."
All those wary hints are soothed away by that short assurance, replaced by a more benign curiosity that keeps her riveted on him even during that stretched minute where she, as instructed, hangs on to his silence as if it were some profound new philosophy. Heavy waiting is rewarded, in the end, with that little revelation that has her exhaling a deep, pensive breath over its edge. Lips part to bring forth empty silence for a few moments more before they form a murmured, "Wow." And that's all she manages for now. Fingertips find his forearm and then she drags it down between them, her hand tracing along the inside of it until she's clasping his hand instead. "Can you?" she asks quietly, eyes flicking suddenly up to him as she adds, "I mean, I thought with Carling and the wedding..."
Reyce waits out that empty silence with mounting tension, a pair of breaths puffed short and hard to disrupt it. The word she utters next draws him down somewhat, more air puffed out but slowly now, eased away into the dark. His hand clamps down hard around hers when it finds him, squeezing her fingers as he pulls them towards his chest. "Makes him strong, yeah. Also makes him weak. Wedding was the only way to buy Pindan in the Conclave, but he told my father who his supports were and my father told me and Coren." His fingers tighten yet more around hers as his eyes turn up to find her face, their intensity burning even in the pitch black of the room. "Me and Coren. Take those supports and Carlin's wedding means one hold for him, Bitra's got nothing. Just have to keep an eye on Coren, can do it."
Issa scans the face of the possible future Lord that lies next to her, noting the new intensity with a slip of a smile returning to her face, filled not with her normal quirked amusement but with a softer pleasure. Her hand squeezes his back whenever his grip tightens, returning the favor with a more distracted weakness. And though her hand falls easily into place when he directs it, she remains in her slightly curled position on the bed next to him while she listens. "Then where does Nabol fit?" she asks, curiosity quieted further, once he's affirmed the possibility of it all.
Reyce tucks his chin down, the rough stubble brushing against their joined hands which have slipped up ever higher towareds his neck. Hot breath steams on both their fingers while he composes this answer, taking time to focus the intensity that lit his previous response. "I'm going to be Lord, have to survive being steward first. Worked with my father on this, got him into something he'd need me for. Made Benden powerful while I did. Got to hear everything he knew about all the Lords he called to Conclave, find their weak spots, how to make them do something. And -" he pauses, his fierce grip on her hand loosening as his voice grows hesitant, soft - "don't think it's a bad thing, there's a way to take up a holder. Don't think it's bad, the Lords watch their own."
Just as Reyce's grip loosens, Issa's squeezes down again in sync with the agreeing nod of her head, fingers straining in between his to accomplish the seemingly impossible feat of bringing their palms closer. Such good intrigue is like the flame to Issa's moth and she drinks it in with attentive eyes and a focused expression, even scooting to angle herself into a closer position, her face nearing his though her legs keep their distance. "Some first step," she comments for the extent, faintly impressed. A sentiment she doesn't leave visible (or audible) for long, asking with the same subtle curiosity as before, "What's next?"
Reyce raises his eyes when he hears her draw near, his chin slowly tilting out of its sharp hold so he can look at her directly. Their noses come close enough to share each other's breath, but remain a fraction short of touching. "Benden's next," he tells her, a faintly wry note at the disappointment this unexciting scheme must bring for her eager moth of a mind. "And not for a couple turns. Been thinking, though. I'm here, meanwhile. Time free. I know the change you want, and you know what I think about it, but if you let me, want to come up with something I'd like better, work with you on that. While I can," he adds, conceding in the whisper of his voice that 'while he can' will not be very long, a mere two turns.
"With me," Issa says, slightly stressing the first word to make known her specification-- her ideas aren't there to be steamrolled, but adapted and amended, with debate, not dictation. But with that said, she makes her curls rustle against the pillow as she nods, the motion causing their noses to brush by accident. She makes a more intentional nudge of it once the nodding's done, however, the tips of their noses briefly flattened together. "Help me in Ista," she says as she draws back an inch, her words half request, half statement, "then we'll go from there."
Reyce concedes the stressed word with a quiet huff of agreement, his hand pressing hers in another squeeze. "If I can," he says, all promise (and a little question). "Don't research well, and don't know how I'd find proof what didn't exist. Don't know why you're looking. Want to know that; you tell me, have a better idea what I'm doing." He seeks the touch of her nose again, extending his out till the very tips touch, his eyes searching hers over the bridge of them.
"We're looking for documented lack of proof, rather than proof itself, I suppose," Issa begins idly, leaving the tips of their noses to touch as long as he'll keep up the contact. Her eyes alternate between an intent flicking and an unfocused stare as she explains. "Roa's focusing on using the law already established to catch S'lien. Had Miniyal do her sneaking at Harper," nevermind certain others who went sneaking off with the very same Miniyal days ago, "when she went, and she talked to the Masterharper himself. He said we need..." Here she counts out the options on his knuckles with a single fingertip tapping down. "A victim or the overstepped authority at Ista to make a claim against S'lien. Seeing as it wasn't Ista's authority he overstepped, I think the former's the only legal option we have. Which is difficult, considering the particular victim. Not only getting her here to deliver a statement, but to prove that her word is sound. To do that, we go to... healer records would probably be easiest. Then absences from drills, any documented travel... hatching records, if we have to, to see if there even /is/ a female greenrider of her age and description still there-- though those'll make you cross-eyed sometimes. Evidence that S'lien's supposed Istan greenrider doesn't exist. And," she adds, throwing a sigh into the pause as she returns eye contact, "if we can get enough to pin S'lien in his own bullshit, all the better. Roa doesn't think he'd be easily moved by blackmail unless we had an airtight attack. She'd know." A shrug for her Weyrwoman's Telgari origins.
Reyce listens to each and every point attentively and quietly, and when she's done he says, "You lost me." He grips her hand, pushing his palm into the touch and shifting the clasped pair away from his chest, so it hangs roughly even between the two of them. "Rumors I heard had it it's an Istan greenrider, said nothing what she looked like. Missed it, maybe." He shrugs: he is, after all, nobody's little gossip. "And I don't get why it's necessary. Would think her dragon'd say what happened, and don't know how that doesn't work if it did for that E'sere. Just taking the law class, not that good at it," he admits without a shade of remorse for his lack of legal skill.
"The green's word could hold," Issa concedes. "She'd probably remember something like that. But she's a green not a bronze, and she was distressed at the time. I wouldn't put it past S'lien to discredit it because of that. Could say the healers had to sew her up quick, green thought they were hurting her. Any sort of thing. It's just shaky. Hide and ink are more reliable in that sense." Returning to his first point, she marks it with a shrug as well, her smile, relaxed now, tilting up at one corner. "And the rumors didn't say. I'm hoping for a glimpse from some source of Roa's at Telgar. If we find someone who saw her other than S'lien and his cronies-- doubtful, but possible-- it could be useful. Point is, even something as little as that /could/ help, so it's something we could look for. Even if it is a long shot."
Reyce absorbs again, staring closely at the dim shadows that track Issa's expressions for him. Between them, his concentration and her explanation work better this time, for he answers with a grunt and, "Okay." He draws away into his own reflections for a few beats, his neck craned so the contact of her nose slips up to rest on his forehead. "Remind you, though - you and Roa, Miniyal, whoever - if it doesn't work, not worth doing. Just does more harm than good, so - make it work." He lifts his head again, settling his nose in place with hers as he exhales a soft, warm breath.
Issa's lips spread wider in their smile for his reminder, later parting to murmur a dry, "Yeah, easy as that," into the short space between them. At the tail end of that murmur, her nose knocks into his with a newly playful bent and then she lifts it away altogether, shifting on the mattress to sit up. The covers drape to her lap and leave her torso unhindered when she strips off her sweater. "I'll talk to Roa again soon as I can," she says, her arms bent back to deal with the bra next, "about her plans and when we can leave." And then the bra follows the same tossed arc as the sweater, the makings of a clothing heap forming on the floor next to her bookshelf.
Reyce follows her cue, though he has less clothing to deal with, given the way he grabs his undershirt along with his sweater and pulls them off as one. Thus he's free to watch her while she takes the bra off - if by 'watch' one understands 'bother.' Leaning forward, he slips his hands over her waist and rubs them on the bare skin, leaning in as he does to add wordless encouragement that she hurry up with the bra so he can kiss her. It hasn't even landed on the floor yet when he dives forward to take his kiss, pressing her mouth only for a second before he shifts down to take swift pulls of her neck. He remembers himself enough to speak, but it's a simple murmur: "Easy as that," echoed but with slightly different intonation, still faintly amused but less dry. His mouth darts back up to find hers and his hands pull her close once the chore of speaking has been finished.
Issa's head drops back to clear a path along the side of her neck for him as he dives that way, a quick swallow rolling underneath the skin he kisses. "Mmm." She only has time for that hummed response to his echo before she's pulled in for a more involved kiss. If there was something to follow, though, it can't have been important, for she lets that kiss lead into another, and then another before she breaks the string and draws her hands away from his sides. She falls back to the bed without bothering to guide him down with her, turning back to the business of undressing by attending to the ties of her pants still buried under the covers. "Reyce," she says, "what about the wedding? You shouldn't be going with me." She states it as fact and turns her eyes up to find his face in the darkness.
Reyce needs no guidance following her down to the bed, his hand planted on her breast as soon as it stops moving. Only, of course, to move it again under his own power. The other hand goes under him to tug at the laces, merely pulling them loose before he leaves them alone and brings the hand up to cup her face. She starts to speak just before his hand reaches her chin, and with his mouth following after it he needs another second to draw his thoughts back together. In the darkness, as the controlling urges of his lust recede, he considers her through a squint. "Why?" he wonders, though his tone is not puzzled; if anything, it's prompting.
Issa turns her head from the kiss left hanging unfinished to look down as she begins to tug down her pants under the covers. So lifting hips and other minor scootings mix in with her words as she says, "Eligible bachelor with the promise of political marriage." Her pants have fallen past the reach of her hands and she uses her feet to push them off the rest of the way instead of sitting up out of his reach; which leaves her hand free to plant an indicating forefinger against his breastbone. "Isn't that how Hold politics work? You can't give that impression if you've got a woman in matching garb attached to your hip."
Reyce lowers himself slowly onto one side while she shifts and strips, his eyes making a detour to watch her for a few moments before he realizes how pointless that is and sends a hand instead. It moves as though detached from the rest of him, eagerly reacquainting itself with the line of her stomach, hip, and thigh while his upper body holds still, the only motion a slight tilt of his chin to watch her finger poke him. He puffs out a small snort at the contact, as though she had pushed the bit of air out of him. "Issa, I knew what the fuck I wanted when I took up with you. Told you before, my father makes a match, I go do it, and this ends. He hasn't made one." Eyes fixed on hers, but flickering for detail, he leans in slowly to kiss her some more.
Issa goes into the first of those kisses with her eyes open, gaze flicking over his features brought so close to her own; that ends seconds in as she becomes preoccupied by the movements of his tongue and her eyelids flutter shut. "Fine," she says when that one breaks off, her tone dropping into the realm of 'whatever you say.' The pants finally separate from her ankles, but she merely kicks them impatiently aside under the covers and leaves them there. Then, with a blink she transforms into impish Issa again, smile subtly beginning to grow as she adds with a light voice, "I'll still come." Then she leans up for that second kiss, and many more, her hands reaching up to draw his head down over her by the curls.
1-18/19-2007 (Issa, Reyce):
Snow kicks up to join the intermittent flakes already falling as Oshisyth backwings to land with her usual absent-minded but small jolt, but it falls and settles around them all again quickly as her passengers dismount. Without straps to bother with after their late dinner, Issa just swings her leg over and slides down the green hide to hit the stone, the soles of her boots letting out a loud stomp as she lands it with ease. She doesn't go ahead of Reyce into the weyr, though, instead turning back to him. Suddenly, her hands shoot up to his shoulders, using that hold to brace herself as she hops up and wraps her legs around his waist. "I'm tired," she explains as, clinging closer, she nuzzles her nose into the bare skin peeking over the neck of his coat. "Carry me," she requests then, as if she was giving him much of a choice save for peeling her off.
Reyce's clothing rustles when Issa jumps into him, the inside lining of that heavy coat rubbing up against the longcoat and leather jacket tucked within. For his own part, the Bendenite only grunts as his arms wrap around her, bracing her before she can slip off his intractable coat. Another grunt acknowledges her (pointless) request before he sets off through the curtain, giving her a toss to keep her placed well up on his torso when he frees a hand to pull the curtain aside and step through. Within, the fire has died out completely, and Reyce considers it only for a moment before turning away, going to the curtain to her inner weyr and jerking that open. With no fire outside, and only the dark night beyond it, the bedroom is pitch black. By now, Reyce doesn't need light to know where everything is, and as he bends forward to lay Issa down on the end of her bed his mouth tilts in to murmur, "Tired?" right next to her ear.
Issa, absorbed in her lazy nuzzling, spares not a single thought for their ultimate destination until she catches a glimpse of a second curtain being pulled aside. He head lifts to mark the passing, but there's no comment for it; unless you count the thoughtful hum she lifts into his ear as her eyes roam around their surroundings, dark as they are. "Tired," she confirms for him. "But I probably could stay up and," cue the drawn, exaggerated yawn, "talk." That word gets separated out not only by the yawn, but by her crisp and smiling pronunciation, turned into his cheek. "For a while. If you want." Arms and legs unwrap simultaneously, but her hands don't break away completely, snagging the collar of his outer coat to make sure he knows he's coming with her when she pushes herself further up the bed.
Reyce begins to lean back when Issa unwraps from him, but the hands on his collar prevent him from going very far. Bent double, and held that way, he shuffles back towards the bed and lifts a knee onto it, his weight rolling down that corner of the mattress as he shifts fully onto that knee. The other soon follows, although he reaches up to free himself of the grip around his collar so he can move independently, rolling aside to take up the space next to her. "Talk," he muses softly, the word delayed by all their shifting around on the bed. A low breath of laughter, its source unexplained, trails the word as he slips his arm over her waist and gives her a shake towards himself. "If you want," he echoes. He clunks his boots together in the darkness, trying to scrape them off before he moves any further up the bed.
Issa arches up, moving the least amount possible while still ridding herself of that heavy coat. Once off, though, it doesn't get tossed aside but dragged over on top of her instead, an impromptu blanket since they're pinning down the others. Then she goes about the same task only a bit delayed, turning to him as she kicks off her shoes. "Have you ever been to Ista?" she wonders, her far hand slung across him, fingers weaseling their way past the layers to find the sweater beneath them and pressing across his stomach to take advantage of the heat kept close there.
Reyce punctuates her words with the thunk of a boot dropping to the floor. He keeps his boots laced very tightly, and pushing them off this way is almost more of a chore than just untying them; still, he keeps at it, rolling to his beck and bending up as his freed foot goes to push at the boot that remains. "No," he exhales, along with a push that knocks the boot mostly off. Another kick serves to throw it off the rest of the way, and this time the thunk comes on wood as it hits the wardrobe before falling to the floor. Trapping her hand on his stomach, he brings it with him as he scoots up the bed, putting his face next to hers for whatever it's worth in the dark. "Ista?" There's the slight motion of an eyebrow going up.
"Mmhmm," Issa hums, giving him nothing more for that raised eyebrow than that. Her boots fall seconds after his, sounding with smaller thunks against the stone as they bounce to a stop. She rolls up onto her side and aids his pull with a few scoots of her own, that other hand spared to make sure that the coat covering her shoulders comes with them. Before she'll flop down after him, though, her captured hand steals back to peel back the flaps of his multiple layers; only then will she bounce down flush against him, taking up that bubble of cool space she's created. "Have you ever wanted to?" After that effort, she makes no other move toward stripping. She's tired, remember.
Reyce's multiple layers are already proving too much, inside the warmth of the inner sanctum. He lifts into her hand as she peels back the flaps of his coats, but when she stops there and lays her head down, he has to move it again. "Not really," he admits, as he lifts her cheek away gently and rolls his arm out of the confining coats. They come off en masse, all the way down to the leather jacket, and en masse he shifts around to pull them off the other shoulder. "You want to?" he asks with his back turned towards her. He tilts his chin over his shoulder to watch her response (what he can see of it), but his hands continue to rustle with clothing as he pushes the jackets away to create an empty version of himself in the bundle of jackets laid out next to him.
Issa lifts at his insistence, only a tiny, muffled humming noise to mark her reluctance to sit up even that little distance. She plants her forearm flat against the mattress to brace her new, more upright lounging position and watches the progress. "I'm going to," she corrects when his turning face prompts an answer, her tone conveying the sneaking smile the darkness masks.
Reyce interrupts her lounging to slim an arm over hers, cupping the hand around to hold the back of her head. Jackets moved away, he inches back towards her and pulls gently on her head to bring her back to him. "Okay," he answers, in a tone so plain as to suggest he missed the smile in her voice. Once he has her head back, however, he curls his chin down and murmurs to her, "Why?" in a voice that hints amusement.
"Oh, I don't know," Issa responds, her tone still fraught with sneaking mirth as she adjusts to press her ear back down to his chest, one arm creeping out from under her draped jacket to smooth that same line it took earlier across his abdomen. "I think I could use a vacation. Some sun. Some swimming, some laying in the sand. Some delving into records to find proof of a greenrider I know doesn't exist. Just a little relaxation, you know." Soon that slowly groped line culminates where his body meets the bed, and turns to track downward , dissatisfied with that end.
Somewhere in the midst of sun, swimming, and laying around, Reyce makes a connection. Somewhere. He gives a small snort to announce it, dropping his head back into the mattress and staring up at the dark ceiling. "Yeah." Yeah, he knows. Shifting beneath the tracings of her hand, he lifts himself into something that becomes a long stretch, his arm pulling her tight to his chest so she won't slip away while he moves. "Telgar?" he wonders, in a voice gone high with the strain on his lungs as he inhales with his motion. Displeased with that sound, Reyce makes a heavy sound in his throat and drops back with a low grunt that reestablishes the depth of his voice.
"Yeah," Issa confirms, making a tiny sucking noise against her teeth. Finally she finds something to entertain that wandering hand, fingers burrowing past the layers he still retains to find warm skin. For the first few seconds her fingernails scrape up, but the contact soon translates to fingertips instead, leading a meandering, sliding touch back up his side. "A sevenday or less, probably. Sometime soon."
Reyce's bare skin proves warm indeed, and he shivers at the contrasting cold of her touch. He doesn't object, though, even when the wandering contact brings goosebumps out on his skin. "I come with?" Up till now, he's left his free hand flopped out on the bed beside him, but now he wraps it back around and finds Issa's waist with it. Although his fingers wait for a moment on the outside of her shirt, the cold of them - he hasn't been wearing gloves, and this was the hand he used to hang on to Oshisyth when they rode - filters through the cloth.
Issa's muscles pull into a stretch under his touch, back arching to bring her tighter against him. "If you want," she says, echoing her earlier phrase playfully while tilting her chin up to peer through the darkness in front of his face. "I want you to," is how she changes it, pressing on. "After all, I expect I'll have time to do some exploring, at least. Search out a secluded beach." Her fingernails make an appearance on his skin again, scratching lines that converge on a single point then push out again. "I'll need /someone/ to carry the bags."
Reyce does not make humming noises to announce when he enjoys something, but the beat of silence following her words gives evidence enough of his distraction. The goosebumps have settled, the initial cold of her fingers already warmed against his skin, but he shivers again anyway when her fingernails go nova on him. Pause completed, he breathes out lightly and agrees, "Sure, Oshisyth can do that." His fingers slip quickly under her shirt, the five freezing points of them spread out like a star over her bare back. And while she's reacting to that, he's murmuring, "I'll come."
There's no hum for that cold slip of fingers against her back, but a rushed inhalation forms a half gasp that's breathed out in the form of several rolling chuckles. "You'll come?" Issa asks, feigning a beg for clarification only so she can color the words with the amount of innuendo they deserve. Her little laugh lingers, a subtle sound in the back of her throat as she reaches up with one hand, leaving the other free to create more shivers at his side, and places it down on the bed above his shoulder. With it, she twists herself over him, her coat falling away from her shoulders, saying as she does, "I'm glad." Her lips meet his with a smiling brush that suddenly moves deeper.
Reyce may well have been aiming for the union of that gasp and his easily reinterpreted choice of words, for he rolls out two breaths of laughter at the innuendo infusing her response. The points of his fingers roll little circles on her back, the beginnings of another tease that cuts off when she places the hand by his shoulder. His chin tilts towards it, watching the faintly deeper shadow that marks her location, and he lets his cold fingers slide across her skin when her next motion brings her to him. Loose at first, the grip of his arm tightens when she kisses him, a small noise escaping him as she transitions to a deeper kiss. He holds onto her mouth for a while, lifting his chin to follow her when she seems ready to pull away, and by the time he does finally let her go there's a self-satisfied smirk curving the last touch from his lips. "How soon?" he presses, tightening his arms again as though he might literally squeeze the answer from her.
And her answer comes on demand as Issa replies quickly, "I don't know. Soon as everything can be organized." Her head tilts, her curls tossed in the direction gravity takes them and making the way clearer for her to study the deep shadows of his face below her. "Just came off of a long string of 'falls, so I should be okay with the wing. Might throw the Weyrlingmaster off, but hopefully I can count on Roa to smooth things over if he says anything." In the dark, her face turns again so that she's now looking at the arm that holds her up as she slides her hand inch by inch down the top of the blanket. "I'm cold," she states, flipping the subject of the moment on its ear in order to assert that fact, "let's get under the covers." And she leads the way, peeling back the blanket she has ahold of as far as it will come with him still prone next to her. There's many readjustments needed, covers to draw back, legs to be brought up and pushed under, a coat to be tossed off the bed, and during them all, she turns back to the matter of Ista, asking, "Are you going to miss anything important in your classes?"
Reyce has to yield his grip on her during all the readjustments that take place, including his own scoot to lean up against the wall with his legs drawn up so he won't pin down the covers. He requires less fussing than she does, simply allowing his coats to fall where they may while he just throws back a corner of the blankets and drops under it. "Maybe," he admits, with an invisible shrug that the cloths that surround him hint at in the rustling they produce. "Don't care, except for math. Take that book with me." His voice grows unaccountably tight when he mentions the math, his words slipped out between gritted teeth. Yet he relaxes soon enough, inching his way towards Issa under the covers and rolling her back up in one arm.
Issa rolls up to him willingly, both arms curled in between them while her palms find their spots to flatten against his sweater. So close and eyes now more adjusted to interpreting shadows, she drops into studying his mouth as he rips out that mention. "You don't want to miss it, that's alright," she tells him, voice lowered into that comfortable murmur she's perfected on these cold nights huddled under the covers. "We can sneak away to secluded beaches another time."
Reyce gives a low breath, but it's not particularly amused. "Want to miss it," he assures her, twitching his chin forward so his nose touches hers. "And said I'd come." He lowers the contact, moving a leg forward to nudge hers with a knee. Less that prompt not be clear enough, he tries to clarify with a foot lifted over hers, dealing out a gentle stroke as he draws it in towards himself.
The slow breath Issa exhales, however, is most definitely amused, her smile broadening with a glimpse of teeth that shows despite the darkness. But something sneaks past that amusement, even as she entangles that leg with his and puts that one hand back into its caressing efforts again, fingers pulling the fabric as they migrate toward his hem once again. "Why do you want to miss it?"
Reyce sinks into a quiet sulk for a while, the evidence written in frowning shadows on his forehead and the shifting tension of his muscles under her touch. "Don't get it," he mutters eventually, and his murky tone gets added to the list of evidence proving his sulk. "Need to figure it out myself, take my own time." He exhales a breath heavily, then decides the better of it and draws it back in just as heavily. There, he holds it in his puffed cheeks for a few extra moments before popping out with a fast sigh. "Take that book with me," he says again.
"Good," Issa replies, one would hope to the comment about taking the book, her smile still secure despite his difficulty. Her hand pushes far up his shirt, holding back and skipping the caresses on the way. But the restraint doesn't last for long; she lets her fingers flow down his spine as they return to a more comfortable position along the small of his back. "I'm sure you'll have plenty of reading time on the beach when I'm out skinny-dipping."
Reyce stretches again as her fingers trace his spine, though it's a much less pronounced stretch than his last and ends in a simple puffed sigh, not an octave-high shift in his voice. But the small stretch has done its part for him, and his voice becomes easy again when he corrects her: "When you're searching records." A paced silence falls, controlled by a lingering note of tension on Reyce's part that precedes him saying, "Don't want to swim."
The smoothing of Issa's fingers, which, though pressured, stops just short of massaging, flickers to a halt and she peers up at him again. "Oh, why not?"
"Don't like it," Reyce answers simply. He rolls his shoulder back to send muscles rippling down his spine, carrying a message to her hand: go on. For all that he complains about hard massages, he welcomes these lighter touches.
And go on Issa does, but not after a pause for what scrutiny she can fit in with the shadowed space between them discouraging her efforts. "Okay," she responds finally, light and accepting, the motion of her fingers returning and pressing higher, her sleeve pressing against already travelled territory as she slips her hand in further. A pause of several moments follows and she fills it with only silent breathing and more of those lighter touches he encouraged, her head tucked up under his chin in the interim. "Reyce." His name invades that lagging moment quietly, rallying further murmured words. "Will you tell me something?"
Reyce twists his free arm around, finding hers and trailing up it to grab the end of her sleeve. His arm pulls down as it retreats, dragging the hem up to her elbow where he stops to push inwards, bringing the touch of her bare skin to his back. "Tell you what?" he grunts, distracted by the manipulations of her hand. Its job done, his own goes to settle low across her waist.
With her face hidden even further out of sight than the darkness would place it, Issa's delivery of the question she wants answered comes across as exceptionally blank, her tone tilted only by the slightest touch of musing. "Where did Lord Carlin first hear about the problem we were having with Nabol last turn?"
With facial expressions removed from the picture, Issa must rely on tension to guide her understanding of Reyce's mood. Fortunately he has a lot of it for that question, his muscles bulking up all along his back. He can't hide his response, so he doesn't bother trying; he adds to it with the low rumble of a growl that trembles above her head. "Probably when it started. You're asking when he got involved, was a group of refugees reached Benden in the sixth month. And you've been talking with the weyrwoman," he concludes, not bothering to segue, as the growl moves into his words.
Confronted with a wall of tensed muscles, Issa's hand slows to a stop in its caresses, resorting instead to pressing down a splayed handprint into the space between his shoulder blades. "Of course I have," she breathes, shifting her head to alter the lay of her curls against his neck. "I asked her. She told me what she suggested. And frankly, it's been the same thing that's been nagging at me since..." But he knows the rest, no need to go over it again. With a huff, the tiny headshake falling underneath his chin transfers into a full, drawing back movement, her face returning to full view and bringing with it her tight frown and pursed lips, her eyes struggling to find his. "Reyce," she says again, low and whispered, as her pressed hand flees his back. She brings it to his face instead, forcing his curls straight with the initial press of her fingers, the gesture quieting soon after with her palm resting lightly on his ear. "Tell me." Her voice begs nearly as strongly as her eyes, intent on his through the darkness. "Once. And then I won't ask again. Was it all his idea? Completely. Start to finish."
Her voice will have to work by itself, for Reyce's eyes slip closed as her words go on. His arm begins to shift beneath her, little tugs given as he tries to reclaim it, but there's no room for him to retreat and eventually he gives up on taking it back and just takes her with him. Elbow firmed, he rolls Issa onto his stomach as he drops back, opening his eyes to stare at the ceiling. Muscles shift and break out of the tension that holds them, though his breath becomes slightly shortened. The whites of his eyes flick back and forth, a pale echo of his scanning look as he lifts his hands to her face and braces his thumbs along her cheeks. "No." Just like that. But his fingers draw tight around her and his eyes fix steadily on hers. "But start to finish, he saw it through."
Issa sinks one hand into the mattress to brace her for that roll and it stays there to hold her slightly above him so she can keep her watchful stare. Her other hand sweeps up further on the other side to find a spot while he speaks, fingertips digging in as her hand curls around the end of his shoulder. Silent while he speaks, she stays that way for a long moment after he's finished. There's not such a marked difference when her words do come, though, her hushed voice slipping stealthily into the quiet with nothing more than a blink shrouded in darkness to signal its coming. "Did Roa have it right, then? Did you start it?"
Reyce sinks away into that long silence, his head falling back into the pillow and his eyes slipping closed again. Another pass from his thumb trails all the way down to the corner of her lip, pausing there before he draws his hands away and leaves her free to move as she likes. He lets his hands fall to the bed besides him, covers rustling as he draws them into a bunch at the center of his palms. "Yes," he answers, in a strangely pained voice. His head falls to the side and he tucks his chin down as it does, breathing into his sweater.
A breath is stolen out of her by that answer, rushing loudly over her lips, those following it made all the more silent with the loss. Issa turns her head down, nose and mouth both pressed against him just because he happens to be there, under her. Another pause, longer than the first spreads out between them, her grip on his shoulder gradually growing tighter as the silence continues. "Reyce," she says then, her breath shooting through the spaces in his sweater to find his skin. "Why the fuck wouldn't you tell me?" But it's not anger guiding those words; they're soft still, infused with a slow concern, her voice muffled deep in her throat as well as by the fabric of his sweater.
Reyce shifts uncomfortably beneath her, drawing up muscles in his shoulder to push at the tight grip she has on him. He drops the blankets in his palm, but although his hand raises towards her, it drops away before it gets near touching her. The palm now lies up, his arm flopped out as though abandoned. He's silent, shifting again, the thin sliver of white at his eyes betraying the fact that they're open, though squinted. "You don't want to know," he decides, opening his eyes the rest of the way. His head stays to the side but his focus slides up to meet her and stare at her face. He shifts, and every shift rolls her just a bare bit to the side, making it harder to stay on top, where he put her.
"No. No, I definitely do." Something harder slips into Issa's voice, lurking there under that double negation. She lifts her head from his chest, her face directed to meet that stare he turns up at her, her expression now heavily expectant. One of those shifts causes her to finally slide off, though she remains in almost full contact when she does; she slumps down onto an elbow right next to him and her shoulder-gripping hand slides down with her until its palm presses down over his ribcage and the breathing that lifts it.
The breathing only barely lifts it, Reyce's breath constrained to gentle silence played out in little puffs spaced at short, uneven intervals. He must lift his head to follow her when she slides off, but he moves no more than he has to, bringing her into view from the corners of his eyes and stopping there with his face once more aimed at the ceiling. "You don't want to know," he tells her again, but he adds this time, "what I think. You want Nabol to be - like you, flying for it. Heroes. Remember you telling me once you had other reasons. And remember you found out my father wasn't the hero you thought he was, suddenly wasn't anything. I didn't tell you," he concludes finally, "because I didn't want you to know." For all the clarity that may (not) give her, he closes off the last word with a definitive click of his teeth that announces he's done.
The fingers Issa has resting lightly on his chest twitch back into a loose curl with that tacked on addition to his earlier words, a motion that gradually draws tighter and tighter as he continues. She drops her gaze, though every attempt is made to conceal that fact, her face still turned toward him in the darkness while just the elusive gleam of her eyes is hidden, downturned. Tension continues to grow in her frame, forming faster than normal; a sudden flinching of her abs when he finishes is the beginning of her drawing away, stiffness falling swiftly over every point of contact as they slowly sink away. "Okay then," she utters in a strained whisper, her hand lifted away from him and placed behind her to assist in the withdrawal. Slowly she picks her way up and over his stretched arm, then settles under the covers on the other side. "Let's both just forget I said anything then," she says evenly, cold as the stone around them and just as hard, as her head settles to the pillow and she goes about pulling the covers up around her.
"Tired of you doing that." Those words register somewhere in the darkness, some time after she turned away to gather blankets about her. When she moved away, Reyce sat up, bringing his side of the covers up with him and letting cold air beneath them. He's cross-legged now, sitting in the center of the bed and still letting in cold air since he didn't bother to scoot back when he sat up. His fingers have pinched down around the edge of the blankets, but he keeps his grip loose and allows them to slide whenever she pulls them, the cloth whisked against his skin. "Tired of you hearing what you don't want so you say, forget it. You said something. I said something. Too late for any of that." Another flap of cold darts under the covers as Reyce finally pulls back from them, swinging his legs out and around to hang off the side of the bed. More blankets rustle and more scooting causes it while he moves to let himself off the high edge.
Issa curls away from him, the blankets balled into her fist and then pulled from him so she can gather them under her chin, leaving him with only her taut shoulders to stare at before he leaves the bed altogether. Her voice rises up from that position, cool as before and a trifle more cutting with, "What else am I supposed to say to that, Reyce?" But her voice cracks over the syllable of his name, leaving the last half of what was surely planned to be a sarcastic jab in shambles, revealing in short, shaky spurts the hurt that lays beneath it. "Help me here, because I'm..." Realizing how she sounds, she stops it with a swallow and finishes a second later, her tone regaining its firmness, though the harsh bite has softened. "At a loss."
Feet touch down on Reyce's side of the bed, a single sound muffled by his socks. At first he goes no further than to lean off the bed like that, holding still and silent while she speaks. Then the mattress shifts as he takes his weight off it completely and the padded sound of more footsteps carries across the room. The shadow of his form crosses behind the foot of the bed, then edges up the aisle to her side of it, the cedar smell of him preceding. At first tentative, he closes a hand tightly on her shoulder, using it to support himself as he leans his face over her head. "Am, too," he whispers, drawing his voice up tight. "What I didn't want. Get worse for us, because of it. Nabol. Want you, and did then, but - this happens." He slowly becomes aware of the growing tension in his fingers and springs them off her shoulder suddenly, leaving only his palm plessed flat to her shirt.
Issa's eyes have shut tight under an absent frown when he reaches her side of the bed, but she must have been following his motion somehow for she meets the touch on her shoulder with no more startle than a stone would have. After listening, her eyes slide open again, but it's the wall she looks to, not him. "So instead you just let me say... all those things, and make it worse myself?" she asks that wall, giving it her thread of guilt if she can't give it to Reyce himself.
She gives it to Reyce himself, though. His hand pulls off her shoulder and curls into his side as he steps back, straightening so he no longer leans over her. For a while, he says nothing, staring at the floor while his eyes dart back and forth, but the rustle of cloth as his hands dig into his pockets keeps the silence from settling too heavily. "Yeah," he admits once he's run out of pocket. "Did. Not why I did, but I did." He shifts a step back, blocking her view of the wall with his body as he leans up against it like a truant school kid.
"Comforting," Issa mumbles dryly, eyes tracking up his lean to find his face and there they stay, studying the shadows that define it for a long moment. "I do care, by the way," she states, a thin layer of bitterness veiling a more tender undercurrent. "What you think." And just when he's gained her gaze, she takes it back again, unraveling her curl slightly to roll onto her back and find the stone of the ceiling to stare at instead. Blankets rustle back down as she sighs, one of her arms lifted from underneath them to tuck her eyes, closed now, into the crook of her elbow, the hand draped listlessly over to her other side.
Reyce draws in a breath, a quick answer considered and discarded just as quickly. He drops it out with a sigh, knocking his head back so he, too, can stare at the ceiling. A swallow sounds before he moves again, kicking off the wall to return to her bedside. Not that it's much of a journey, with the room as small as it is. He touches her again, the backs of his knuckles leaned up along her cheek while it's laid out next to that elbow. In silence, unbothered by rustled clothing this time, he waits for her to look at him.
If it's eyes he's waiting on, he'll have to wait a little longer, for that slung arm doesn't stir in response to his touch. But she returns his touch sooner than that, her second hand surfacing from the furs to curl her knuckles under his fingers, her thumb pinning their hands together so she can draw them under her chin. Only then does her gaze slowly slide into view; the blocking arm pulls back, lifted then to reach and establish another guiding touch at his elbow, then her eyes flutter open to peer up. "Come back to bed," she says, low and simple, neither begging nor ordering. With a short scoot, she begins to make room for him on her side.
Reyce will take what he can get, and if it's a hand she'll give, it's a hand he'll take. He forgets to do anything with his own hand, letting it be curled about and moved wherever she places it; he stares at her eyes when she opens them, and follows her into the bed when she opens the blankets to him. Time spent out of the covers has already cooled his feet, but after a few quick, startling brushes of them as he settles in with her, he stretches his legs out to put them out of reach. "Want to talk, sometime," he says as he's moving, his focus allowed to wander down to the bed while he elbows himself a spot on the pillow. "You're not tired." He drops his head into the space he made, stopping there.
Issa pulls both of her arms back to her as he settles in beside her, one tucked under her pillow while the other lays along her side, mirroring her curves as she turns back onto her shoulder to face him. His request is greeted with something of a mixture of wary curiosity and, something he hasn't seen in quite a while, suspicion, both dimmed by the darkness. After a quick swallow, she tells him, "We're already talking," her voice more hesitant than her words would suggest. "Say whatever you want."
Even in darkness, Reyce reads the lines of wariness and suspicion written into her posture, and promptly turns his eyes down to avoid them. But, "Not bad," he assures her. An arm lays above the blanket, dropped along his side though much less artfully than Issa's, and when he speaks he lifts his fingers, thin shadows moving in the dark. "Try to just talk. Things I don't say, I - shit, hang on." His arm raises over his head, the muscles curled tight as he echoes her, hiding his chin behind the crook of an elbow. "Hang on," he whispers again, though it's hardly necessary. It's a good solid minute before he speaks again, but when he does the emotion leaks out of his voice and the tension leaves his arm. "I want to be the next Lord of Benden and Nabol was the first step. That's all."
All those wary hints are soothed away by that short assurance, replaced by a more benign curiosity that keeps her riveted on him even during that stretched minute where she, as instructed, hangs on to his silence as if it were some profound new philosophy. Heavy waiting is rewarded, in the end, with that little revelation that has her exhaling a deep, pensive breath over its edge. Lips part to bring forth empty silence for a few moments more before they form a murmured, "Wow." And that's all she manages for now. Fingertips find his forearm and then she drags it down between them, her hand tracing along the inside of it until she's clasping his hand instead. "Can you?" she asks quietly, eyes flicking suddenly up to him as she adds, "I mean, I thought with Carling and the wedding..."
Reyce waits out that empty silence with mounting tension, a pair of breaths puffed short and hard to disrupt it. The word she utters next draws him down somewhat, more air puffed out but slowly now, eased away into the dark. His hand clamps down hard around hers when it finds him, squeezing her fingers as he pulls them towards his chest. "Makes him strong, yeah. Also makes him weak. Wedding was the only way to buy Pindan in the Conclave, but he told my father who his supports were and my father told me and Coren." His fingers tighten yet more around hers as his eyes turn up to find her face, their intensity burning even in the pitch black of the room. "Me and Coren. Take those supports and Carlin's wedding means one hold for him, Bitra's got nothing. Just have to keep an eye on Coren, can do it."
Issa scans the face of the possible future Lord that lies next to her, noting the new intensity with a slip of a smile returning to her face, filled not with her normal quirked amusement but with a softer pleasure. Her hand squeezes his back whenever his grip tightens, returning the favor with a more distracted weakness. And though her hand falls easily into place when he directs it, she remains in her slightly curled position on the bed next to him while she listens. "Then where does Nabol fit?" she asks, curiosity quieted further, once he's affirmed the possibility of it all.
Reyce tucks his chin down, the rough stubble brushing against their joined hands which have slipped up ever higher towareds his neck. Hot breath steams on both their fingers while he composes this answer, taking time to focus the intensity that lit his previous response. "I'm going to be Lord, have to survive being steward first. Worked with my father on this, got him into something he'd need me for. Made Benden powerful while I did. Got to hear everything he knew about all the Lords he called to Conclave, find their weak spots, how to make them do something. And -" he pauses, his fierce grip on her hand loosening as his voice grows hesitant, soft - "don't think it's a bad thing, there's a way to take up a holder. Don't think it's bad, the Lords watch their own."
Just as Reyce's grip loosens, Issa's squeezes down again in sync with the agreeing nod of her head, fingers straining in between his to accomplish the seemingly impossible feat of bringing their palms closer. Such good intrigue is like the flame to Issa's moth and she drinks it in with attentive eyes and a focused expression, even scooting to angle herself into a closer position, her face nearing his though her legs keep their distance. "Some first step," she comments for the extent, faintly impressed. A sentiment she doesn't leave visible (or audible) for long, asking with the same subtle curiosity as before, "What's next?"
Reyce raises his eyes when he hears her draw near, his chin slowly tilting out of its sharp hold so he can look at her directly. Their noses come close enough to share each other's breath, but remain a fraction short of touching. "Benden's next," he tells her, a faintly wry note at the disappointment this unexciting scheme must bring for her eager moth of a mind. "And not for a couple turns. Been thinking, though. I'm here, meanwhile. Time free. I know the change you want, and you know what I think about it, but if you let me, want to come up with something I'd like better, work with you on that. While I can," he adds, conceding in the whisper of his voice that 'while he can' will not be very long, a mere two turns.
"With me," Issa says, slightly stressing the first word to make known her specification-- her ideas aren't there to be steamrolled, but adapted and amended, with debate, not dictation. But with that said, she makes her curls rustle against the pillow as she nods, the motion causing their noses to brush by accident. She makes a more intentional nudge of it once the nodding's done, however, the tips of their noses briefly flattened together. "Help me in Ista," she says as she draws back an inch, her words half request, half statement, "then we'll go from there."
Reyce concedes the stressed word with a quiet huff of agreement, his hand pressing hers in another squeeze. "If I can," he says, all promise (and a little question). "Don't research well, and don't know how I'd find proof what didn't exist. Don't know why you're looking. Want to know that; you tell me, have a better idea what I'm doing." He seeks the touch of her nose again, extending his out till the very tips touch, his eyes searching hers over the bridge of them.
"We're looking for documented lack of proof, rather than proof itself, I suppose," Issa begins idly, leaving the tips of their noses to touch as long as he'll keep up the contact. Her eyes alternate between an intent flicking and an unfocused stare as she explains. "Roa's focusing on using the law already established to catch S'lien. Had Miniyal do her sneaking at Harper," nevermind certain others who went sneaking off with the very same Miniyal days ago, "when she went, and she talked to the Masterharper himself. He said we need..." Here she counts out the options on his knuckles with a single fingertip tapping down. "A victim or the overstepped authority at Ista to make a claim against S'lien. Seeing as it wasn't Ista's authority he overstepped, I think the former's the only legal option we have. Which is difficult, considering the particular victim. Not only getting her here to deliver a statement, but to prove that her word is sound. To do that, we go to... healer records would probably be easiest. Then absences from drills, any documented travel... hatching records, if we have to, to see if there even /is/ a female greenrider of her age and description still there-- though those'll make you cross-eyed sometimes. Evidence that S'lien's supposed Istan greenrider doesn't exist. And," she adds, throwing a sigh into the pause as she returns eye contact, "if we can get enough to pin S'lien in his own bullshit, all the better. Roa doesn't think he'd be easily moved by blackmail unless we had an airtight attack. She'd know." A shrug for her Weyrwoman's Telgari origins.
Reyce listens to each and every point attentively and quietly, and when she's done he says, "You lost me." He grips her hand, pushing his palm into the touch and shifting the clasped pair away from his chest, so it hangs roughly even between the two of them. "Rumors I heard had it it's an Istan greenrider, said nothing what she looked like. Missed it, maybe." He shrugs: he is, after all, nobody's little gossip. "And I don't get why it's necessary. Would think her dragon'd say what happened, and don't know how that doesn't work if it did for that E'sere. Just taking the law class, not that good at it," he admits without a shade of remorse for his lack of legal skill.
"The green's word could hold," Issa concedes. "She'd probably remember something like that. But she's a green not a bronze, and she was distressed at the time. I wouldn't put it past S'lien to discredit it because of that. Could say the healers had to sew her up quick, green thought they were hurting her. Any sort of thing. It's just shaky. Hide and ink are more reliable in that sense." Returning to his first point, she marks it with a shrug as well, her smile, relaxed now, tilting up at one corner. "And the rumors didn't say. I'm hoping for a glimpse from some source of Roa's at Telgar. If we find someone who saw her other than S'lien and his cronies-- doubtful, but possible-- it could be useful. Point is, even something as little as that /could/ help, so it's something we could look for. Even if it is a long shot."
Reyce absorbs again, staring closely at the dim shadows that track Issa's expressions for him. Between them, his concentration and her explanation work better this time, for he answers with a grunt and, "Okay." He draws away into his own reflections for a few beats, his neck craned so the contact of her nose slips up to rest on his forehead. "Remind you, though - you and Roa, Miniyal, whoever - if it doesn't work, not worth doing. Just does more harm than good, so - make it work." He lifts his head again, settling his nose in place with hers as he exhales a soft, warm breath.
Issa's lips spread wider in their smile for his reminder, later parting to murmur a dry, "Yeah, easy as that," into the short space between them. At the tail end of that murmur, her nose knocks into his with a newly playful bent and then she lifts it away altogether, shifting on the mattress to sit up. The covers drape to her lap and leave her torso unhindered when she strips off her sweater. "I'll talk to Roa again soon as I can," she says, her arms bent back to deal with the bra next, "about her plans and when we can leave." And then the bra follows the same tossed arc as the sweater, the makings of a clothing heap forming on the floor next to her bookshelf.
Reyce follows her cue, though he has less clothing to deal with, given the way he grabs his undershirt along with his sweater and pulls them off as one. Thus he's free to watch her while she takes the bra off - if by 'watch' one understands 'bother.' Leaning forward, he slips his hands over her waist and rubs them on the bare skin, leaning in as he does to add wordless encouragement that she hurry up with the bra so he can kiss her. It hasn't even landed on the floor yet when he dives forward to take his kiss, pressing her mouth only for a second before he shifts down to take swift pulls of her neck. He remembers himself enough to speak, but it's a simple murmur: "Easy as that," echoed but with slightly different intonation, still faintly amused but less dry. His mouth darts back up to find hers and his hands pull her close once the chore of speaking has been finished.
Issa's head drops back to clear a path along the side of her neck for him as he dives that way, a quick swallow rolling underneath the skin he kisses. "Mmm." She only has time for that hummed response to his echo before she's pulled in for a more involved kiss. If there was something to follow, though, it can't have been important, for she lets that kiss lead into another, and then another before she breaks the string and draws her hands away from his sides. She falls back to the bed without bothering to guide him down with her, turning back to the business of undressing by attending to the ties of her pants still buried under the covers. "Reyce," she says, "what about the wedding? You shouldn't be going with me." She states it as fact and turns her eyes up to find his face in the darkness.
Reyce needs no guidance following her down to the bed, his hand planted on her breast as soon as it stops moving. Only, of course, to move it again under his own power. The other hand goes under him to tug at the laces, merely pulling them loose before he leaves them alone and brings the hand up to cup her face. She starts to speak just before his hand reaches her chin, and with his mouth following after it he needs another second to draw his thoughts back together. In the darkness, as the controlling urges of his lust recede, he considers her through a squint. "Why?" he wonders, though his tone is not puzzled; if anything, it's prompting.
Issa turns her head from the kiss left hanging unfinished to look down as she begins to tug down her pants under the covers. So lifting hips and other minor scootings mix in with her words as she says, "Eligible bachelor with the promise of political marriage." Her pants have fallen past the reach of her hands and she uses her feet to push them off the rest of the way instead of sitting up out of his reach; which leaves her hand free to plant an indicating forefinger against his breastbone. "Isn't that how Hold politics work? You can't give that impression if you've got a woman in matching garb attached to your hip."
Reyce lowers himself slowly onto one side while she shifts and strips, his eyes making a detour to watch her for a few moments before he realizes how pointless that is and sends a hand instead. It moves as though detached from the rest of him, eagerly reacquainting itself with the line of her stomach, hip, and thigh while his upper body holds still, the only motion a slight tilt of his chin to watch her finger poke him. He puffs out a small snort at the contact, as though she had pushed the bit of air out of him. "Issa, I knew what the fuck I wanted when I took up with you. Told you before, my father makes a match, I go do it, and this ends. He hasn't made one." Eyes fixed on hers, but flickering for detail, he leans in slowly to kiss her some more.
Issa goes into the first of those kisses with her eyes open, gaze flicking over his features brought so close to her own; that ends seconds in as she becomes preoccupied by the movements of his tongue and her eyelids flutter shut. "Fine," she says when that one breaks off, her tone dropping into the realm of 'whatever you say.' The pants finally separate from her ankles, but she merely kicks them impatiently aside under the covers and leaves them there. Then, with a blink she transforms into impish Issa again, smile subtly beginning to grow as she adds with a light voice, "I'll still come." Then she leans up for that second kiss, and many more, her hands reaching up to draw his head down over her by the curls.