Happy birthday to me
Another birthday log! Yaaaay. Now with full pose action!
On the morning of Issa's birthday, Reyce treats her to a (very early) breakfast in bed. And brings her slippers.
5-5-2008 (Reyce, Issa):
Reyce gets up so early that it barely qualifies as 'morning.' Not even the sun is up yet. But there's no class today, and no football because of tomorrow's Harvest celebration. He can sleep in later. For now, he picks his way around the outer weyr, starting up a fire in the brazier, and carefully - with a few clinks and clanks, sizzles and murmurs that he tries to keep as quiet as possible - preparing breakfast. Fry the eggs, heat up the oatmeal ... poor Oshisyth will have to deal with it, but with luck Issa won't wake up ...finally, return to the bedroom with tray in hand. Opting for a seat on her side of the bed, he nudges Issa's legs for space.
Oshisyth offers a singular grumble when Reyce first begins to make his clanking preparations, altogether unhappy sounding, but after sliding open one eye to capture him in a sluggish, glowing gaze she heaves herself over to her other side, face to the weyr wall, and settles again. That brief stirring doesn't seem to have bothered Issa, though, for when he returns to the bed she's still splayed out in much the same position she occupied when he left. Her groan echoes her dragon's when the weight of him near her legs interrupts her sleep and she grips the pillow in order to more fully bury her face in it. A moment later she arches into a stretch and tilts her chin up to blink groggily over at his empty side of the bed. It finally sinks in and then she twists around to find where he actually is, a sleep-weak hand shoving curls back from her forehead. She rests her head in that hand when it's done its duty, perusing both him and the tray he has with him. "What did you do?" she whispers, her rasp vaguely pleased though her facial expression hasn't quite caught up to her thought process yet.
Reyce's eyes remain trained on her face. When she seems ready to go back to her pillow, he braces a foot against the floor and pushes, giving the bed a little jounce to make sure she doesn't actually fall back asleep. "Made you breakfast," he answers, and he seems rather pleased with himself, also. He twists around so the tray will be easier for Issa to see: toast, oatmeal, eggs, and tea. He even managed to scrounge up some seasonings - pepper, salt, and sugar, though the last two are hard to tell apart - which he's collected in tiny sampling bowls he must have taken from the dining hall.
"Mmm, wow," Issa mutters as she runs her eyes over the food being presented to her. After soaking it all in she lowers herself into another stretch, slowly rolling herself onto her back, and groans, "Happy birthday to me." Once she's set up in her new position, propped up against the pillow she tried to bury herself in earlier, she stretches her lips into a smile for him and urges him to pass over the tray he's prepared. She still has a bit of waking up to do, though, evident by the yawn suddenly comes over her and the extra stretch she slips in after it.
Reyce sets the tray down on her legs, taking a moment to stuff the blanket up underneath it, making sure it will stay steady. "Yeah." He glances up after she stretches, watching her for a moment before he reaches out to touch her cheek. "Sorry," he murmurs, trailing his fingers down to tap the edge of her yawning mouth. "Wanted to do this with you before Asha's up. That okay?" His eyes skim back and forth across her features.
"Mmhmm," Issa answers, drawing her smile into a stronger, more comforting curve. One of her hands comes in from that quick stretch to give him a quick rub on the arm as well. Then it's back to the tray, eyes ogling the landscape of eggs and oatmeal before she can begin to dig in. Each of those tiny bowls of spice are picked up and smelled in turn and when the last, the sugar, is set down, she shamelessly sticks a finger into it and lifts it to her mouth. It's her breakfast tray, she'll do what she wants. "Just as long as you don't expect me to get up this early to do the same thing for you on your next birthday," she teases him, eyes flicking up to find his for a brief, good-natured squint before she finds her fork and cuts into the egg, letting yellow yolk ooze out onto the plate.
Reyce watches her sniff through the spices with mild curiosity, quirking a one-sided smile when she goes straight into the sugar. There are no recriminations for that here, however. "No," he answers, taking her tease literally and answering as such. He catches the squint a moment later, blowing out a snort to show he understands - belated though it is - that she was joking. And he's amused by her. "Was also making sure that if I fucked it up," a hand flicks at the eggs, "could try again." And he can joke too, even.
Issa smiles at him around the bite of egg that she carefully ferries up to her mouth, delaying until she can comment. "Did you fuck it up?" she asks. Apparently she's not talking about this particular egg, for she goes for another bite, this one not so gingerly taken; a drop of yolk slips off of the fork just before she makes it to her mouth, leaving a gooey streak across her chin. Awkwardly, she tries to keep it from dripping further down onto the covers by stretching her chin up while searching with her free hand for a napkin, a low and still-raspy chuckle bubbling up.
Reyce tugs a napkin out from under her knife, where it's been sitting neatly folded (and unintentionally disguised against the same plain linen that covers the tray). He nudges her questing hand aside rather than giving it to her, and trains his eyes on hers while he dabs that gooey streak away. "Only once," he murmurs, "so there's more eggs if you want them." A glance at her chin affirms that he got all the egg yolk off her, and then he flips the napkin, putting the yolk side out and laying it over her chest, to catch further spills. There's a faint quirk of amusement at the side of his mouth while he does this.
Issa echoes that amusement with another soft chuckle as she sets the fork down and goes to select a triangle of toast instead. "Thirty-one turns and I can't even feed myself," she mutters with a humorous note of self-deprecation before crunching into the dry toast. "It's good," she notes after chewing, gesturing with the point of the toast at the rest of the plate, making it general rather than specific. Arching an eyebrow, she then asks, "You want some?" then nibbles off another bite.
"I had some," Reyce assures her, eyes wandering back to the bed. He plants his arm on the other side of her legs and uses that to keep his body up as he hauls himself to the other side of her, careful not to knock her or disturb the tray. He's now back on his side of the bed, technically, but he's still in her space, stretching out beside her and inching up to take some of her pillow room. "What I did with the burned stuff." Impatient to see her sample it, he fills a spoon up with oatmeal and holds it out for her, reminding her in an undertone, "Can't feed yourself." Having seen how she took to the sugar, he's no doubt proud of himself for lacing the oatmeal with rare, sweet honey.
Issa holds her toast out to the side while he spoons up some oatmeal, clearing the way for her to stretch forward and take it. Her hand is already reaching for the sugar when she leans up, but as soon as she tastes the stuff, she gives up that thought. "Mmm," is her initial compliment, then she nudges at the spoon with her toast, ushering it back down to get more. "You can have some of the non-burned stuff, you know," she tells him, the toast nudged at him this time, an offer made with the soft arch of an eyebrow.
The spoon obeys, and so does Reyce as he leans forward to take a quick bite of the offered toast. He crunches on it while he waits for a bit of excess oatmeal to drip off the spoon, making it safe for another trip up to her mouth. "Was okay," he comments. "Kind of liked it burned. Tastes different." Reyce makes the spoon weave back and forth in front of Issa, the same way they used to do to Asha when they were teaching her to eat her food. Of course, at the time, they weren't taunting Asha the way Reyce is now by delaying the arrival of the honey-laced oatmeal for a few more seconds.
Issa takes things into her own hands, then, grabbing him by the wrist and forcing his hand to her mouth, meeting it halfway by leaning forward. Almost to far, for the tray wiggles a little in her lap with all of her effort. As she chews, she steadies it again, slipping him an impish glance. "You're going to make me spill my birthday breakfast."
Reyce's surprise, brief though it is, at her grabbing his wrist prevents him from steadying the tray before she gets to it, but he follows up anyway, crossing his left hand over to grab on and hold it still. "Would be too bad. Got more food, but that's the only honey I had," he answers, tipping his chin towards the oatmeal bowl. Satisfied that it's not going to spill, he dips the spoon in to get her another taste. This one goes straight for her mouth, but he sneaks a kiss onto her shoulder while it's got her occupied. "I was you, would keep a closer watch on my birthday breakfast."
"Mmm," Issa hums, and it's clear it's not just for the taste of the honey, for she slips sideways to land a peck on the side of his neck to answer his kiss. Then she turns back to eagerly take that oatmeal. Then it's back to the eggs for a minute and munching on the rest of that toast, during which she's mostly silent, save for the muffled notes of appreciation. When the last bit of crust disappears behind her lips, she slides into more of a slouch; it takes the tray further away, but it also plants her head on his shoulder. "I like this," she all but sighs out as she pulls the bowl of oatmeal off the tray altogether, putting it instead closer, over her stomach. "Thanks." Her hand turns over, palm up and waiting to see if he'll cede control of the spoon.
Cede it he does, hand lingering to give hers a squeeze. Then Reyce leverages her up with his shoulder, pushing her away from himself (and the pillow) so there's room for his arm to sneak around behind and close over her shoulders. "Good," he murmurs, "glad." He tips his head to the side, his cheek touching the side of her head. "Welcome."
After eating another spoonful of oatmeal, nibble by nibble, Issa responds, "Don't be too glad. I could get used to this." In slips another small bite and after chewing a few times she pushes it to the side of her mouth to continue with, "I may make you do it every morning when I get pregnant again." It's somewhat rare that Issa will invite the topic of her future pregnancy into the realm of actuality with a willing mention in conversation and it always seems to come with a minute amount of awkwardness. She dispels it this time with a press against the cheek he rests against her head (it'll have to do for a squeeze for now when her arms are busy with the food) and a soft chuckle.
A large part of the fault for that awkwardness can be laid on Reyce, who seems to think that mention of her not-yet pregnancy requires a sympathetic response on his part. She can't squeeze him, but his arm tightens around her shoulder and gives her a light pat. "You will," he predicts, blowing a light breath of laughter through her hair. "Won't get honey and sugar, though. Just oatmeal." He flicks his fingers at the stuff.
"No sugar?" Issa questions him in return, the arch of her eyebrow so evident in the tone of her voice that she doesn't need to turn and favor him with it. At any rate, she's too busy putting away that oatmeal. Her spoon hits the bottom of the bowl and she takes the time to scrape up another bite before talking. "I can't be held responsible for what I say, then. Or do. Hormones and all." Her shoulders give a shrug within the cove of his arm and she focuses on finishing that oatmeal, working slower to savor the last bits sticking to the bowl.
Reyce's left arm moves forward, putting a finger into her bowl of pepper and bringing it straight to his tongue. His eyes thin slightly as he considers the taste, apparently dismissing it after a few pops of his lips. "Can't always expect me to get it," he points out calmly, the twitched-up corner of his mouth belying his cool tone. "Dining hall's going to kick me out, they notice I've been stealing." He tries her sugar next, with much the same indifferent result.
Issa watches him go from bowl to bowl while polishing off the oatmeal, but after he sticks a finger into the sugar she teasingly reprimands him. "Don't waste it," she says as she places a protective hand over the little sugar bowl, "Leave it all for me and you won't have to turn into a thief." As soon as she's put her oatmeal bowl down on the tray, however, she gives up that protective stance and passes the tray into his lap with a muttered, "Here." She grabs the tea but the rest (remnants of an egg, a couple pieces of toast) is his to pick over. With her lap cleared, she can turn slightly onto her hip, toward him, being careful of the tea, cradled in both hands.
As soon as he has the tray again (for which he needs to take back his arm, scooting it out from behind her), Reyce sticks his finger into the sugar again. "Don't see where's the fun in that," he answers, tapping another finger into the salt and bringing them together to his tongue. This combination seems to suit him better, for he gives a little grunt of satisfaction. Still, he goes after more substantial food next, leaving the seasonings alone to pick up a piece of toast and bring it to his mouth. As he crunches into it, his other hand moves to Issa's face, touching her forehead briefly as he sweeps back a tumbled curl and tucks it behind her ear.
Her eyelids dip and an easy smile slides across her expression as Issa pauses to enjoy the moment, the touch of his brushing finger. It's just a moment, though, and she doesn't linger in that sleepy, dreamy state. Instead she turns to the mundane matters, such as her tea, laced with more benign herbs than her morning tea once had; just a duck for a quick, testing sip and then she looks up at him again. "So what else do you have planned for me today?" He'll know they have to work around her drills of course, but that's the only minor mar on her otherwise wide open birthday.
"Well." Reyce chews his toast, watching it as he compiles his list. "Got your present waiting when you get up, but nothing until then. Figure when Asha's up, could play some game you two want - and before your drills, take her nap with her, since I got you up early." His hand returns, along with his gaze, as he cups her cheek in his vague manner of offering an apology. "You get back then it's just us, everybody else's preparing for the Harvest so we can go anywhere and probably have it to ourselves. Where you want." His thumb presses a dimple into her cheek before he withdraws his hand completely.
"Sounds great," Issa muses in between sips of her tea, idly watching him as he works his way through that piece of toast. Another long draw from her mug and then she places it next to the plate on the tray, still half full. "But can you bring my present in here?" she suggests, already stretching out and pushing herself further under the covers again, smiling broadly up at him as she does so. When that stretching move stops, she's nearly flat again, her head resting against the pillow he leans up against.
Noticing that some of the (punctured) egg yolk's been seeping out onto the plate, Reyce considers it a moment, then decides to swipe it up with his toast and try that. "Already did," he informs the lazing greenrider, shooting a twist of a smile down at her. "No point bringing it any closer than it is," he continues mysteriously, punctuating his words with a bite from that egg-soaked toast. It tastes pretty good, at least to him, so he holds it out for Issa with a wiggle and a questioning arch of his eyebrows.
That questioning arch is met almost immediately by one of her own, though it's for an entirely different reason. Indeed, Issa only notices the toast after it's been held there for a few seconds, then she leans forward for a nibble that just barely takes off that smear of yolk. Her attention isn't really on the taste just now, though; mostly it centers on gleaning clues from his expression. Apparently she doesn't find many, because then she goes on the hunt. Her hand wriggles into one pocket, bent at an awkward angle thanks to the tray, and searches there for a moment before she has to push herself up to reach across him and search the other one. Face to face during that (and consequently blocking the distraction of food), she grins up at him, eyes still probingly thinned. "You going to give me any hints?" she asks, presumably when she finds nothing worthwhile in that pocket either.
Reyce abandons the food to let her fish around in his pockets, lifting his arms above his head and giving her a smug look: if she wants to feel him up, that's fine. Encouraged. But it won't find her any presents, because his pockets are empty. "Could," he says. "You did." His gaze skims towards her stomach, then jumps quickly away. He fixes on the food instead, reaching for the last bites of his toast now that she's done with his pockets. "But don't think it'd do you any good - your present - unless you're getting up anyway." He folds the toast up and slips it in his mouth, watching her face again while he chews.
Issa stares at him blankly for a good, long moment, blinking her way through the ideas brought on by that hint he gave so easily. "Mmm," she hums softly to herself as her gaze begins to wander, casting all across the room before she rolls herself up to a sitting position again, even going so far as to drag her feet out from under the covers and dangle them over the edge of the bed. From there, she scours the room again.
Her feet are what's getting in her way. If she looks down, or steps off the bed, she'll find a pair slippers just beneath them. They're simple things - dark green, low-heeled - but softer than they look, made with well-treated terry cloth and a cushioned sole. While Issa looks around the room for them, Reyce discreetly sets the tray aside and pulls himself up, inching up next to her on the bed. He doesn't do a thing to help her find the slippers, though; just looks at her with a neutral eye (mostly neutral - there's a spark of amusement hiding somewhere back there) and wait. She can't miss them if she moves.
Eventually Issa does turn her eyes to the floor, though it's a corner of the room that she takes some time in getting to. Catching sight of a patch of color, she parts her feet to further investigate and finally finds them, passing a triumphant grin up to him as soon as she does. She then pours herself off of the bed and into the new slippers, without having to touch a single toe to the chilled stone floor. Subtle hums and coos build up as she admires them on her feet and tries them out in a few-stepped circle, but then she vocalizes her approval. "The most comfortable shoes I've ever owned," she informs him while moving closer, hands planted on the bed so she leans in to him. But she goes even further than that, climbing back onto the bed, slippers and all, pushing him back with her progress and completely disregarding the tray he may have to deal with. "Now if only I could wear them while fighting Thread."
The tray is not in the way, but the fact that it might get unsettled and spill something clearly itches at Reyce, who glances at it even as Issa's forcing him to lean back. He does hate getting crumbs in the bed. Yet he only dwells on that concern for a few seconds, letting himself be edged down the rest of the way but digging a hand deep into the curls at the nape of her neck. "Know you don't like new shoes," he murmurs, using that hand to pull her head down so she'll hurry up and kiss him. Surely he gets a reward for this. "But thought it'd be an exception." That self-satisfaction returns as he looks up at her, eyelids slanted low and one corner of his mouth quirked subtly up.
Surely. Issa leans into the kiss she's guided into, planting a firm, close-mouthed one on him and following it up with a couple more, of a softer variety. Then she proceeds, shifting so that she lays on top of him, one dark green slipper on each side of his legs. "Mhmm," she agrees, eyes sliding slowly closed with contentment and then opening again to find his. "Thank you," she says, stretching up to give him another kiss, this one with a subtle slip of tongue. Folding her arms across his chest, she then pulls back to relax, feet wriggling idly within the slippers at his sides. "They're great. I may just wear them and this," her downward glance indicates the stolen Reyce-shorts and flimsy undershirt she wears for nightclothes now, "all the time."
Reyce is content to let her guide the kissing, although he does grunt when she draws back from the one with tongue. He lets it go, matching her folded arms by crossing his over her shoulders, her hair long since released when she started to kiss him. "You look good," he judges without looking (for he's seen her in these clothes before), and his words drag out lazily over an as-yet unvoiced addendum. "But you're going to be cold."
Issa grumbles good-naturedly over that prospect, but only takes a moment to consider before she replies, "Not if I stay in bed all day, bundled under the covers with you to keep me warm. And fetch me food," she adds as an afterthought, her gaze having wandered briefly to the tray they gave up on so recently. And, seeing how lazy she is right now, it almost seems like a viable prospect.
"Nn-n," Reyce replies, shaking his head. His fingers drop to Issa's shoulder blades, giving them little taps: beating out a slow and absent tempo while he talks to her. "Already had your food. Rest is for Asha. But tell you what," his fingers pause a moment, "get you a robe for anniversary." The word 'our,' not usually one of his verbal shortcuts, gets sort of slurred into the 'for' before it: he's usually pretty alert in the mornings, but it seems her laziness is bleeding over to him.
"Mmm, that would be great," she responds, nodding against the hands her chin rests on so that they press into his chest. Then a quirk appears at the edge of her slight smile and she adds, "Be easier to get off than this." Proud in the fact that she's exposed an ulterior motive in his gift giving, she angles herself in for another kiss, letting his hands fall further down her back as she lifts up.
Low laughter emanates from Reyce as his hands move obediently down her back, turning that rhythmic tapping into a massage of sorts. It's probably not much of a surprise when, egged on by her teasing, he swiftly takes hold of that undershirt and pulls it up, leading with his thumbs to create a little room between their bodies. He can't get it over Issa's head, not with her arms like that, but all he wants (and all he does) is to whip it up higher than her breasts. "Seemed easy enough," he comments, that soft laughter picking up in his words. His arms cross over her back again and hold there, blocking the shirt in its place.
Issa turns her head to the side to see what mischief he's wrought with her undershirt (and to cast a sly glance at the doorway) before she answers his low laugh with one of her own. "Well, /that/ was easy enough," she will give him that, but she adds, "It's the shorts that are the problem." And there is most definitely a challenge in that tone, one she reaffirms as she squeezes her legs close to his and teases him with brushed kisses against his skin, making it difficult for him when he inevitably goes to try. But it's not a challenge she plans on winning, for eventually those shorts are flung over the top of the breakfast tray and it's a good half an hour more before they get up and put those new slippers to use.
On the morning of Issa's birthday, Reyce treats her to a (very early) breakfast in bed. And brings her slippers.
5-5-2008 (Reyce, Issa):
Reyce gets up so early that it barely qualifies as 'morning.' Not even the sun is up yet. But there's no class today, and no football because of tomorrow's Harvest celebration. He can sleep in later. For now, he picks his way around the outer weyr, starting up a fire in the brazier, and carefully - with a few clinks and clanks, sizzles and murmurs that he tries to keep as quiet as possible - preparing breakfast. Fry the eggs, heat up the oatmeal ... poor Oshisyth will have to deal with it, but with luck Issa won't wake up ...finally, return to the bedroom with tray in hand. Opting for a seat on her side of the bed, he nudges Issa's legs for space.
Oshisyth offers a singular grumble when Reyce first begins to make his clanking preparations, altogether unhappy sounding, but after sliding open one eye to capture him in a sluggish, glowing gaze she heaves herself over to her other side, face to the weyr wall, and settles again. That brief stirring doesn't seem to have bothered Issa, though, for when he returns to the bed she's still splayed out in much the same position she occupied when he left. Her groan echoes her dragon's when the weight of him near her legs interrupts her sleep and she grips the pillow in order to more fully bury her face in it. A moment later she arches into a stretch and tilts her chin up to blink groggily over at his empty side of the bed. It finally sinks in and then she twists around to find where he actually is, a sleep-weak hand shoving curls back from her forehead. She rests her head in that hand when it's done its duty, perusing both him and the tray he has with him. "What did you do?" she whispers, her rasp vaguely pleased though her facial expression hasn't quite caught up to her thought process yet.
Reyce's eyes remain trained on her face. When she seems ready to go back to her pillow, he braces a foot against the floor and pushes, giving the bed a little jounce to make sure she doesn't actually fall back asleep. "Made you breakfast," he answers, and he seems rather pleased with himself, also. He twists around so the tray will be easier for Issa to see: toast, oatmeal, eggs, and tea. He even managed to scrounge up some seasonings - pepper, salt, and sugar, though the last two are hard to tell apart - which he's collected in tiny sampling bowls he must have taken from the dining hall.
"Mmm, wow," Issa mutters as she runs her eyes over the food being presented to her. After soaking it all in she lowers herself into another stretch, slowly rolling herself onto her back, and groans, "Happy birthday to me." Once she's set up in her new position, propped up against the pillow she tried to bury herself in earlier, she stretches her lips into a smile for him and urges him to pass over the tray he's prepared. She still has a bit of waking up to do, though, evident by the yawn suddenly comes over her and the extra stretch she slips in after it.
Reyce sets the tray down on her legs, taking a moment to stuff the blanket up underneath it, making sure it will stay steady. "Yeah." He glances up after she stretches, watching her for a moment before he reaches out to touch her cheek. "Sorry," he murmurs, trailing his fingers down to tap the edge of her yawning mouth. "Wanted to do this with you before Asha's up. That okay?" His eyes skim back and forth across her features.
"Mmhmm," Issa answers, drawing her smile into a stronger, more comforting curve. One of her hands comes in from that quick stretch to give him a quick rub on the arm as well. Then it's back to the tray, eyes ogling the landscape of eggs and oatmeal before she can begin to dig in. Each of those tiny bowls of spice are picked up and smelled in turn and when the last, the sugar, is set down, she shamelessly sticks a finger into it and lifts it to her mouth. It's her breakfast tray, she'll do what she wants. "Just as long as you don't expect me to get up this early to do the same thing for you on your next birthday," she teases him, eyes flicking up to find his for a brief, good-natured squint before she finds her fork and cuts into the egg, letting yellow yolk ooze out onto the plate.
Reyce watches her sniff through the spices with mild curiosity, quirking a one-sided smile when she goes straight into the sugar. There are no recriminations for that here, however. "No," he answers, taking her tease literally and answering as such. He catches the squint a moment later, blowing out a snort to show he understands - belated though it is - that she was joking. And he's amused by her. "Was also making sure that if I fucked it up," a hand flicks at the eggs, "could try again." And he can joke too, even.
Issa smiles at him around the bite of egg that she carefully ferries up to her mouth, delaying until she can comment. "Did you fuck it up?" she asks. Apparently she's not talking about this particular egg, for she goes for another bite, this one not so gingerly taken; a drop of yolk slips off of the fork just before she makes it to her mouth, leaving a gooey streak across her chin. Awkwardly, she tries to keep it from dripping further down onto the covers by stretching her chin up while searching with her free hand for a napkin, a low and still-raspy chuckle bubbling up.
Reyce tugs a napkin out from under her knife, where it's been sitting neatly folded (and unintentionally disguised against the same plain linen that covers the tray). He nudges her questing hand aside rather than giving it to her, and trains his eyes on hers while he dabs that gooey streak away. "Only once," he murmurs, "so there's more eggs if you want them." A glance at her chin affirms that he got all the egg yolk off her, and then he flips the napkin, putting the yolk side out and laying it over her chest, to catch further spills. There's a faint quirk of amusement at the side of his mouth while he does this.
Issa echoes that amusement with another soft chuckle as she sets the fork down and goes to select a triangle of toast instead. "Thirty-one turns and I can't even feed myself," she mutters with a humorous note of self-deprecation before crunching into the dry toast. "It's good," she notes after chewing, gesturing with the point of the toast at the rest of the plate, making it general rather than specific. Arching an eyebrow, she then asks, "You want some?" then nibbles off another bite.
"I had some," Reyce assures her, eyes wandering back to the bed. He plants his arm on the other side of her legs and uses that to keep his body up as he hauls himself to the other side of her, careful not to knock her or disturb the tray. He's now back on his side of the bed, technically, but he's still in her space, stretching out beside her and inching up to take some of her pillow room. "What I did with the burned stuff." Impatient to see her sample it, he fills a spoon up with oatmeal and holds it out for her, reminding her in an undertone, "Can't feed yourself." Having seen how she took to the sugar, he's no doubt proud of himself for lacing the oatmeal with rare, sweet honey.
Issa holds her toast out to the side while he spoons up some oatmeal, clearing the way for her to stretch forward and take it. Her hand is already reaching for the sugar when she leans up, but as soon as she tastes the stuff, she gives up that thought. "Mmm," is her initial compliment, then she nudges at the spoon with her toast, ushering it back down to get more. "You can have some of the non-burned stuff, you know," she tells him, the toast nudged at him this time, an offer made with the soft arch of an eyebrow.
The spoon obeys, and so does Reyce as he leans forward to take a quick bite of the offered toast. He crunches on it while he waits for a bit of excess oatmeal to drip off the spoon, making it safe for another trip up to her mouth. "Was okay," he comments. "Kind of liked it burned. Tastes different." Reyce makes the spoon weave back and forth in front of Issa, the same way they used to do to Asha when they were teaching her to eat her food. Of course, at the time, they weren't taunting Asha the way Reyce is now by delaying the arrival of the honey-laced oatmeal for a few more seconds.
Issa takes things into her own hands, then, grabbing him by the wrist and forcing his hand to her mouth, meeting it halfway by leaning forward. Almost to far, for the tray wiggles a little in her lap with all of her effort. As she chews, she steadies it again, slipping him an impish glance. "You're going to make me spill my birthday breakfast."
Reyce's surprise, brief though it is, at her grabbing his wrist prevents him from steadying the tray before she gets to it, but he follows up anyway, crossing his left hand over to grab on and hold it still. "Would be too bad. Got more food, but that's the only honey I had," he answers, tipping his chin towards the oatmeal bowl. Satisfied that it's not going to spill, he dips the spoon in to get her another taste. This one goes straight for her mouth, but he sneaks a kiss onto her shoulder while it's got her occupied. "I was you, would keep a closer watch on my birthday breakfast."
"Mmm," Issa hums, and it's clear it's not just for the taste of the honey, for she slips sideways to land a peck on the side of his neck to answer his kiss. Then she turns back to eagerly take that oatmeal. Then it's back to the eggs for a minute and munching on the rest of that toast, during which she's mostly silent, save for the muffled notes of appreciation. When the last bit of crust disappears behind her lips, she slides into more of a slouch; it takes the tray further away, but it also plants her head on his shoulder. "I like this," she all but sighs out as she pulls the bowl of oatmeal off the tray altogether, putting it instead closer, over her stomach. "Thanks." Her hand turns over, palm up and waiting to see if he'll cede control of the spoon.
Cede it he does, hand lingering to give hers a squeeze. Then Reyce leverages her up with his shoulder, pushing her away from himself (and the pillow) so there's room for his arm to sneak around behind and close over her shoulders. "Good," he murmurs, "glad." He tips his head to the side, his cheek touching the side of her head. "Welcome."
After eating another spoonful of oatmeal, nibble by nibble, Issa responds, "Don't be too glad. I could get used to this." In slips another small bite and after chewing a few times she pushes it to the side of her mouth to continue with, "I may make you do it every morning when I get pregnant again." It's somewhat rare that Issa will invite the topic of her future pregnancy into the realm of actuality with a willing mention in conversation and it always seems to come with a minute amount of awkwardness. She dispels it this time with a press against the cheek he rests against her head (it'll have to do for a squeeze for now when her arms are busy with the food) and a soft chuckle.
A large part of the fault for that awkwardness can be laid on Reyce, who seems to think that mention of her not-yet pregnancy requires a sympathetic response on his part. She can't squeeze him, but his arm tightens around her shoulder and gives her a light pat. "You will," he predicts, blowing a light breath of laughter through her hair. "Won't get honey and sugar, though. Just oatmeal." He flicks his fingers at the stuff.
"No sugar?" Issa questions him in return, the arch of her eyebrow so evident in the tone of her voice that she doesn't need to turn and favor him with it. At any rate, she's too busy putting away that oatmeal. Her spoon hits the bottom of the bowl and she takes the time to scrape up another bite before talking. "I can't be held responsible for what I say, then. Or do. Hormones and all." Her shoulders give a shrug within the cove of his arm and she focuses on finishing that oatmeal, working slower to savor the last bits sticking to the bowl.
Reyce's left arm moves forward, putting a finger into her bowl of pepper and bringing it straight to his tongue. His eyes thin slightly as he considers the taste, apparently dismissing it after a few pops of his lips. "Can't always expect me to get it," he points out calmly, the twitched-up corner of his mouth belying his cool tone. "Dining hall's going to kick me out, they notice I've been stealing." He tries her sugar next, with much the same indifferent result.
Issa watches him go from bowl to bowl while polishing off the oatmeal, but after he sticks a finger into the sugar she teasingly reprimands him. "Don't waste it," she says as she places a protective hand over the little sugar bowl, "Leave it all for me and you won't have to turn into a thief." As soon as she's put her oatmeal bowl down on the tray, however, she gives up that protective stance and passes the tray into his lap with a muttered, "Here." She grabs the tea but the rest (remnants of an egg, a couple pieces of toast) is his to pick over. With her lap cleared, she can turn slightly onto her hip, toward him, being careful of the tea, cradled in both hands.
As soon as he has the tray again (for which he needs to take back his arm, scooting it out from behind her), Reyce sticks his finger into the sugar again. "Don't see where's the fun in that," he answers, tapping another finger into the salt and bringing them together to his tongue. This combination seems to suit him better, for he gives a little grunt of satisfaction. Still, he goes after more substantial food next, leaving the seasonings alone to pick up a piece of toast and bring it to his mouth. As he crunches into it, his other hand moves to Issa's face, touching her forehead briefly as he sweeps back a tumbled curl and tucks it behind her ear.
Her eyelids dip and an easy smile slides across her expression as Issa pauses to enjoy the moment, the touch of his brushing finger. It's just a moment, though, and she doesn't linger in that sleepy, dreamy state. Instead she turns to the mundane matters, such as her tea, laced with more benign herbs than her morning tea once had; just a duck for a quick, testing sip and then she looks up at him again. "So what else do you have planned for me today?" He'll know they have to work around her drills of course, but that's the only minor mar on her otherwise wide open birthday.
"Well." Reyce chews his toast, watching it as he compiles his list. "Got your present waiting when you get up, but nothing until then. Figure when Asha's up, could play some game you two want - and before your drills, take her nap with her, since I got you up early." His hand returns, along with his gaze, as he cups her cheek in his vague manner of offering an apology. "You get back then it's just us, everybody else's preparing for the Harvest so we can go anywhere and probably have it to ourselves. Where you want." His thumb presses a dimple into her cheek before he withdraws his hand completely.
"Sounds great," Issa muses in between sips of her tea, idly watching him as he works his way through that piece of toast. Another long draw from her mug and then she places it next to the plate on the tray, still half full. "But can you bring my present in here?" she suggests, already stretching out and pushing herself further under the covers again, smiling broadly up at him as she does so. When that stretching move stops, she's nearly flat again, her head resting against the pillow he leans up against.
Noticing that some of the (punctured) egg yolk's been seeping out onto the plate, Reyce considers it a moment, then decides to swipe it up with his toast and try that. "Already did," he informs the lazing greenrider, shooting a twist of a smile down at her. "No point bringing it any closer than it is," he continues mysteriously, punctuating his words with a bite from that egg-soaked toast. It tastes pretty good, at least to him, so he holds it out for Issa with a wiggle and a questioning arch of his eyebrows.
That questioning arch is met almost immediately by one of her own, though it's for an entirely different reason. Indeed, Issa only notices the toast after it's been held there for a few seconds, then she leans forward for a nibble that just barely takes off that smear of yolk. Her attention isn't really on the taste just now, though; mostly it centers on gleaning clues from his expression. Apparently she doesn't find many, because then she goes on the hunt. Her hand wriggles into one pocket, bent at an awkward angle thanks to the tray, and searches there for a moment before she has to push herself up to reach across him and search the other one. Face to face during that (and consequently blocking the distraction of food), she grins up at him, eyes still probingly thinned. "You going to give me any hints?" she asks, presumably when she finds nothing worthwhile in that pocket either.
Reyce abandons the food to let her fish around in his pockets, lifting his arms above his head and giving her a smug look: if she wants to feel him up, that's fine. Encouraged. But it won't find her any presents, because his pockets are empty. "Could," he says. "You did." His gaze skims towards her stomach, then jumps quickly away. He fixes on the food instead, reaching for the last bites of his toast now that she's done with his pockets. "But don't think it'd do you any good - your present - unless you're getting up anyway." He folds the toast up and slips it in his mouth, watching her face again while he chews.
Issa stares at him blankly for a good, long moment, blinking her way through the ideas brought on by that hint he gave so easily. "Mmm," she hums softly to herself as her gaze begins to wander, casting all across the room before she rolls herself up to a sitting position again, even going so far as to drag her feet out from under the covers and dangle them over the edge of the bed. From there, she scours the room again.
Her feet are what's getting in her way. If she looks down, or steps off the bed, she'll find a pair slippers just beneath them. They're simple things - dark green, low-heeled - but softer than they look, made with well-treated terry cloth and a cushioned sole. While Issa looks around the room for them, Reyce discreetly sets the tray aside and pulls himself up, inching up next to her on the bed. He doesn't do a thing to help her find the slippers, though; just looks at her with a neutral eye (mostly neutral - there's a spark of amusement hiding somewhere back there) and wait. She can't miss them if she moves.
Eventually Issa does turn her eyes to the floor, though it's a corner of the room that she takes some time in getting to. Catching sight of a patch of color, she parts her feet to further investigate and finally finds them, passing a triumphant grin up to him as soon as she does. She then pours herself off of the bed and into the new slippers, without having to touch a single toe to the chilled stone floor. Subtle hums and coos build up as she admires them on her feet and tries them out in a few-stepped circle, but then she vocalizes her approval. "The most comfortable shoes I've ever owned," she informs him while moving closer, hands planted on the bed so she leans in to him. But she goes even further than that, climbing back onto the bed, slippers and all, pushing him back with her progress and completely disregarding the tray he may have to deal with. "Now if only I could wear them while fighting Thread."
The tray is not in the way, but the fact that it might get unsettled and spill something clearly itches at Reyce, who glances at it even as Issa's forcing him to lean back. He does hate getting crumbs in the bed. Yet he only dwells on that concern for a few seconds, letting himself be edged down the rest of the way but digging a hand deep into the curls at the nape of her neck. "Know you don't like new shoes," he murmurs, using that hand to pull her head down so she'll hurry up and kiss him. Surely he gets a reward for this. "But thought it'd be an exception." That self-satisfaction returns as he looks up at her, eyelids slanted low and one corner of his mouth quirked subtly up.
Surely. Issa leans into the kiss she's guided into, planting a firm, close-mouthed one on him and following it up with a couple more, of a softer variety. Then she proceeds, shifting so that she lays on top of him, one dark green slipper on each side of his legs. "Mhmm," she agrees, eyes sliding slowly closed with contentment and then opening again to find his. "Thank you," she says, stretching up to give him another kiss, this one with a subtle slip of tongue. Folding her arms across his chest, she then pulls back to relax, feet wriggling idly within the slippers at his sides. "They're great. I may just wear them and this," her downward glance indicates the stolen Reyce-shorts and flimsy undershirt she wears for nightclothes now, "all the time."
Reyce is content to let her guide the kissing, although he does grunt when she draws back from the one with tongue. He lets it go, matching her folded arms by crossing his over her shoulders, her hair long since released when she started to kiss him. "You look good," he judges without looking (for he's seen her in these clothes before), and his words drag out lazily over an as-yet unvoiced addendum. "But you're going to be cold."
Issa grumbles good-naturedly over that prospect, but only takes a moment to consider before she replies, "Not if I stay in bed all day, bundled under the covers with you to keep me warm. And fetch me food," she adds as an afterthought, her gaze having wandered briefly to the tray they gave up on so recently. And, seeing how lazy she is right now, it almost seems like a viable prospect.
"Nn-n," Reyce replies, shaking his head. His fingers drop to Issa's shoulder blades, giving them little taps: beating out a slow and absent tempo while he talks to her. "Already had your food. Rest is for Asha. But tell you what," his fingers pause a moment, "get you a robe for anniversary." The word 'our,' not usually one of his verbal shortcuts, gets sort of slurred into the 'for' before it: he's usually pretty alert in the mornings, but it seems her laziness is bleeding over to him.
"Mmm, that would be great," she responds, nodding against the hands her chin rests on so that they press into his chest. Then a quirk appears at the edge of her slight smile and she adds, "Be easier to get off than this." Proud in the fact that she's exposed an ulterior motive in his gift giving, she angles herself in for another kiss, letting his hands fall further down her back as she lifts up.
Low laughter emanates from Reyce as his hands move obediently down her back, turning that rhythmic tapping into a massage of sorts. It's probably not much of a surprise when, egged on by her teasing, he swiftly takes hold of that undershirt and pulls it up, leading with his thumbs to create a little room between their bodies. He can't get it over Issa's head, not with her arms like that, but all he wants (and all he does) is to whip it up higher than her breasts. "Seemed easy enough," he comments, that soft laughter picking up in his words. His arms cross over her back again and hold there, blocking the shirt in its place.
Issa turns her head to the side to see what mischief he's wrought with her undershirt (and to cast a sly glance at the doorway) before she answers his low laugh with one of her own. "Well, /that/ was easy enough," she will give him that, but she adds, "It's the shorts that are the problem." And there is most definitely a challenge in that tone, one she reaffirms as she squeezes her legs close to his and teases him with brushed kisses against his skin, making it difficult for him when he inevitably goes to try. But it's not a challenge she plans on winning, for eventually those shorts are flung over the top of the breakfast tray and it's a good half an hour more before they get up and put those new slippers to use.