dragons update (2 of 2)
Title: Ficlet : Spencer Again
Rating: Not Intended for Children (Some Adult Language, Sexual Themes)
Fandom: Bandom/Dragonriders of Pern crossover (posted for bandom_pern)
Pairing: None (future Spencer/Bob)
Warnings: None
Words: 3050
Summary: Spencer is going crazy
Previous Ficlets in the Series: 1. Bob, 2. Spencer, 3. Brendon, 4. Brian, 5. Bob Again, 6. Greta.
Spencer Again
Spencer walked around the edge of the courtyard. He kept his eyes down to ensure he didn't make eye contact with any of those working on the new wall and window on the other side of the square. He continued on until he was also out of view from the main hall. Placing his good hand on a ledge, he wedged one foot firmly into a convenient notch and swung himself up, keeping himself hidden behind the piles of stone from the rebuilding efforts.
He wasn't hiding. Not really. He just needed a break.
He needed a break from the looks and the whispering and the not belonging. He couldn't get a break from the loneliness, which was at its peak when Miloth was asleep and Healer Morgan was busy with other duties, but he could sit here and relax in the sun and let his guard down for just a fucking minute.
He considered finding the Hall's Harper, and getting him to write a letter for him. But to who? He thought of Brendon, and Haley. He thought of Zack and Pete. He knew the Weyr had gotten word of his injuries and enforced stay, but he wondered if they missed him, like he missed them. He thought of his sisters, and even his foster brother, Ryan, who he hadn't seen since he'd Impressed Miloth. He thought it would be nice to see his mother.
It had only been ten days since the accident, and Spencer was pretty sure he was going out of his shell. Never had he done so little. He and Miloth had been grounded for at least three sevendays, to allow her wing and wrenched muscles to heal. It rankled on him. He'd grown up busy in a farming hold, and then at the Weyr after he'd been searched. Even before he Impressed Miloth there had always been occupation. Since then, of course, his entire life had been a whirl of training and caring for his dragon and messenger duties and every other thing that went with being a dragonrider.
And now he was just... here.
Master Schechter had given him leave to assist with the building work or sit in with the apprentices while they were doing their training, but there was only so much he could do with one hand. His other was still strapped to a board, and resting in a sling that hung around his neck. It didn't hurt much, if he kept it still. At least he favoured his right hand for most things.
Poor Miloth couldn't help with any heavy lifting. Or fly. The watchdragon from the nearby Hold had brought two large wherries for her to feed on since she couldn't hunt, but her appetite was not at all what it usually was.
Spencer would take her on walks, balance unsteady with an awkward wing and sore leg, to keep her exercised. He tried to stay positive, concentrating on feelings of happiness at her continued recovery, and confidence that they would soon be home in their weyr. She had a typical dragon's memory, and found it difficult to understand how much longer they would be confined to this place. Every couple of days he had to again convince her to stay on the ground, that it wasn't worth possibly exacerbating her injuries by even trying to fly.
I can go between very quickly. I would hardly need to fly at all!
Shells. He hadn't realised she was listening in on his thoughts.
"No, Miloth. It's the take off that would the most dangerous part. You could be hurt even worse. We don't want to be stuck on the ground any longer than we have to."
As frustrating as it was, Spencer was glad that she had no real memory of the explosion, of being thrown into the air. He kept replaying the feeling of the flying strap snapping and burning across his chest, and of waking up to see people everywhere, and the ground scattered with debris.
I remember calling to you. I remember that you could not hear me. That you would not speak.
Spencer closed his eyes. I am sorry, Miloth. I hear you now. Everything is okay now.
The image of smoke billowing through the hole in the wall, of the chaos and disaster came to mind, and Spencer opened his eyes and shook his head to clear it away.
And I remember that the other one stayed with me and let me know that you were not gone.
That had been the strangest part. If Bryar hadn't been there, Spencer doesn't know how different things might have been. After all that time he had spent wondering about Bryar, imagining what he was really like, Spencer was aware of how surreal it was to now be spending time with him.
He talked to the Healers and wouldn't let them take you from me.
Yes. I know. Spencer was very grateful for that. They owed him so much.
He knew what might happen if they took you away. He has very sad memories in his heart.
Bryar was so ... intriguing. More so now that Spencer had the chance of spending time with him each day. The sadness followed him around, and Spencer was never sure if he was making it all worse by his very presence. But then every now and then, Spencer would catch him off guard and he would bark out a genuine laugh. His voice was furry and of a lighter tone than expected. Spencer would talk to him sometimes; ask him questions, trying to get a response. Most of the time the response came in grunts and shrugs. Bryar would scowl and glare at the floor rather than at Spencer's face.
He squirmed against the rock he was sitting on and shook his hair back out of his eyes. The rock was warm along his thighs and the sun shone on the back of his neck.
If he leant to the left he had a good sight line into the work room of the main hall. He could see Bryar there being all focused, concentrating on the piece he was working with. He had capable hands; not as beefy as his build suggested, almost sensitive looking.
Spencer could still recall the feeling of Bryar's hand on his upper arm as the Weyr Dragonhealer had set the bone in Miloth's wing. A wave of echoed pain had washed over him, and he had felt his head spin. His stomach had heaved, the ground suddenly appearing at the wrong angle. Another hand had held his hip until he got his balance. It had felt good. He didn't move away.
And when a voice had murmured in his ear, "Pe... Smith. Stay calm. She needs that," Spencer had turned his head and locked eyes with Bryar. There had been so much pain there. Loss. But Bryar had nodded, and Spencer's head had moved in agreement. Up. Down. Yes he could stay calm. Of course he could. He always stayed calm. You could ask anyone he knew!
"That's good. Well, tell your dragon that, Smith. She's the one who needs to know right now."
He must have spoken aloud.
Bryar's arms had been steady and strong around him. He wasn't as tall as Spencer had always assumed, but Spencer still fit comfortably against his chest.
Spencer watched as Bryar pushed up his sleeves and wiped his forehead on his forearm. The workroom was obviously hotter than where Spencer was sitting, because Bryar shook the sleeves back down and then shrugged out of his hooded jacket. Spencer couldn't recall having seen him in just a tunic, with his arms bare like that.
He leant further, hoping to get a clearer view. Bryar turned his head and Spencer ducked back, his heart beating loudly in his ears. He really hoped he hadn't been seen. He sat, frozen for a few minutes, wondering if he dared look again. What if Bryar had taken off the tunic? He might be standing with no shirt at all. Spencer really didn't want to miss that.
He shook his head. What the shards was he thinking?
So, he was obviously very bored and horny.
Yeah. He was definitely horny. It was just so strange being here. And as well as not having his usual occupations, Spencer didn't have his usual outlets.
Life as a dragonrider had a certain freedom that he certainly hadn't witnessed in the Hall. And life as a green dragonrider had a particular identity and expectation. He was safe to seek as many casual or meaningful attachments as he was comfortable with. The more at ease a greenrider was with their sexual identity, the more easily they could meet the needs of their dragon, and support her in her mating cycle.
Spencer was more than comfortable with all of that, in the Weyr. He was one of many, for a start; there were over a hundred green dragonriders in his Weyr. Here he was one; an oddity.
On the one hand he was deferred to and treated as an honoured guest on the basis of his rank as a rider. He was invited to dine with the journeymen and women, even though most of the apprentices were more his age.
On the other hand, most of the people of the Hall had only the most lurid and superstitious knowledge of weyr life, and the bolder of them seemed to think they were at liberty to make comments and suggestions to him, mostly based on the assumptions that either he was available to any who took a passing interest, or that they were all in danger of him bending them to his perverted will.
Master Schechter had made an effort to dismiss these degrading beliefs, and always treated Spencer with the politest and warmest of courtesies. He was fairly new to the post of Mastersmith, though, and evidently was fighting his own battles against longstanding prejudices.
There had been one situation several days previously as Spencer had made his way between the tables to take his meal with Healer Morgan. He'd had to angle sideways to slip through the space where a bench was pushed out a little from the table. It was difficult not to brush against the men seated on either side, and as he lifted his arms to wiggle through a hand had suddenly grabbed hold of his arse, squeezing the cheek painfully hard before stroking down his thigh. Spencer had squawked and jumped and turned to see who had touched him. Two gangly apprentices were busy falling over each other laughing as a third put on an expression of defiant unconcern and let his eyes slide over Spencer's body from head to foot.
Spencer had summoned his dragonrider pride and drawn himself to his full height before meeting the young man's gaze, holding it, and tilting his head to one side. He examined him for a few moments before taking a breath and granting himself a small eye roll, hiding the wince as it pulled on bruised tissue in his temple.
"I really don't think so." Spencer had shrugged his shoulders dismissively before continuing on his way. He could feel his stomach muscles quivering from holding in the tension, and made a point of keeping his gait relaxed and slow. Behind him there was a roar of laughter. He hoped the flush wasn't showing on his cheeks.
Suddenly the jeering had died down. Spencer couldn't resist the urge to look over his shoulder and see what had happened. Bryar was standing there, glaring at the group. He had continued staring until each of them had turned back to their meal and started eating in silence.
Spencer hadn't had any trouble in the dining hall since, but he still avoided the apprentices as much as he could.
Spencer wondered briefly what Bryar's dragon had been like. What he'd been like in a mating flight. He wouldn't have minded that outcome. Before he had a chance to be shocked at himself, Miloth replied.
I would have liked that, too. This one is strong. I'm sure his Dradineth would have flown well and caught me. Even though I am very fast.
Spencer gasped and coughed on nothing. As he shook his head, a thought occurred to him. How did you know his dragon's name? It was vaguely familiar to him; he must have heard it when he first heard Bryar's story in his early days at the Weyr.
I asked this one. He told me.
Miloth! I can't believe you...
He was not angry with me. It was good for him to speak of Dradineth. No one here remembers his name with him.
Still!
Miloth was supremely unrepentant, and didn't offer any other information to Spencer.
He wondered what else Miloth knew.
His body felt charged and restless, and for a moment Spencer considered quickly taking the edge off the constant sexual frustration, and enjoying a quick release. He was well hidden, after all.
Spencer leant cautiously back over to look into the workroom. He couldn't see Bryar at all now.
He found himself wondering again, what it would have been like if Bryar's Dradineth had flown Miloth. He squirmed and rubbed himself through his trousers.
A large bell rang, signalling the start of the tenth hour. Spencer sighed and took his hand away. It was almost time to see the healers, and then he would need to take Miloth for a walk.
Spencer wriggled forward using his heels to pull himself along until he was close enough to the edge of the outcrop to push off with his working arm and jump down.
He felt weary already even though he hadn't done anything. Maybe after lunch he and Miloth would nap. And that would be another day in the Smithcraft Hall.
~
When Spencer finished his daily session with Healer Morgan, having his dressings changed and his arm checked over, he walked out and saw Bryar standing next to Miloth, one hand leaning on her knee joint as he stretched over to rub her eye ridge.
Spencer stopped several paces away, tried to fold his arms - before remembering why that wasn't possible - and then settled with a hand resting on one hip, taking all his weight on that leg.
I have an itch. He knows just the place to scratch.
Miloth's eyes were partly lidded and whirling a contented blue.
Spencer was hit by a wave of something uncomfortable in his stomach, and his chest felt tight.
He cleared his throat and spoke aloud to Miloth, "I should get some oil. Can't neglect your hide just because we're not going between."
Bryar leapt back in surprise, snatching his hand off Miloth's leg. His eyes were really blue, almost exactly the same shade as Miloth's.
"She had an itch."
"Yes, I know. She told me."
Bryar's eyes narrowed for a moment and Spencer wondered if he saw a flicker of confusion cross his face.
You are angry? With him? Are you angry with me? Miloth crooned and limped closer to him, whuffling breath over his face.
Immediately, Spencer felt awful. He didn't want either of them feeling bad. He wasn't even sure what the problem was. It was impossible that he was feeling jealous of his dragon! Her love for him was as much a part of him as his heartbeat. He felt ridiculous.
"Hey, I'll go." Bob interrupted his thoughts. "I shouldn't have just... without you here..."
Spencer could feel Miloth worrying about Bryar. Spencer felt like shit.
"No it's fine. Don't go. I... I'm glad she has someone else to talk to." Spencer reached a hand towards Bryar, but he didn't mirror the action. "And I guess... I'm glad you get to talk to her.'
Bryar's face softened. His eyes were still sad, but there was definitely a hint of a smile as he turned and looked away to the side. Spencer swallowed and took another step closer, again reaching his hand out. He wrapped his fingers around Bryar's wrist, turning his hand flat, and then slid his own palm across it. Despite all the time they'd spent together, it was the first time they'd touched since the day of the accident when Spencer had been held so snugly into Bryar's chest, steady and strong. He hoped that offering a formal introduction was an appropriate apology for all the insensitivity and selfishness he'd displayed. His skin was warm.
He finished the slide and then quickly returned his hand to Bryar's wrist, not sure if he was offering comfort or requesting it. Bryar curled his fingers up and gently squeezed. It didn't really seem to matter either way.
The jealousy in Spencer's gut drained away, leaving something else altogether. He remembered the image that had come to his mind earlier, of Bryar, caught up in the thrall of a mating flight. He ducked his head and blinked it away. His heart started beating faster.
Spencer heard a sharp intake of breath, and looked up through his lashes to see Bryar biting his lip.
Spencer stood still, not wanting to take his hand away, but not wanting to push things too far. He didn't want Bryar thinking that all those people with their taunts and prejudices were right. He didn't want to just be some proddy green rider.
He wanted Bryar to know that he was honestly wanting to be his friend. That he enjoyed his company. This whole thing would have been so much easier if Bryar hadn't also been standing there with his dragon-blue eyes and his halo of soft gingery-blond hair and his strong, capable arms.
You are also attractive, Penth.
Thank you, he thought with a huff. But there's no reason to think that Bryar is interested in me apart from you.
He should be interested in you. He would enjoy sleeping with you very much.
A flush appeared on Bryar's cheeks.
What are you doing? Spencer thought sternly at her. It was not right for a dragon to take so much initiative.
Miloth stretched her neck and rested her head down on her folded front legs.
I do not know why you are cross. It has been many days that you have not been with someone. It would be good for both of you.
Son of a watchwher, Miloth. Stop trying to set me up!
Bryar cleared his throat.
"I'm going to... I'll be."
He looked down to where his hand was still covered by Spencer's. With another cough, he let go and shoved his hands deep into his pockets and took a step back before turning on his heel and retreating into the Hall.
"Miloth, I can't believe you."
He is not angry, so you should not be angry.
Spencer wilted at the hesitant tone of his dragon's voice.
"I'm not... I'm not angry." He leant against her neck, burying his face in her hide. "This isn't easy for you, either."
He enjoyed the feeling of Miloth's rumbling as it vibrated along her throat.
I still have an itch, she said, placidly. Right there.
next
~
Thankyou to maple_mahogany for all the hand holding and advice, and to barmy_bunk for the beta.
Disclaimer: The Pern universe and the world, creatures and customs that belong to it remain the intellectual property of Anne McCaffrey, and the characters referenced in this piece are fictional representations of real people. No offense or infringement is intended, and no profit is being made.
Rating: Not Intended for Children (Some Adult Language, Sexual Themes)
Fandom: Bandom/Dragonriders of Pern crossover (posted for bandom_pern)
Pairing: None (future Spencer/Bob)
Warnings: None
Words: 3050
Summary: Spencer is going crazy
Previous Ficlets in the Series: 1. Bob, 2. Spencer, 3. Brendon, 4. Brian, 5. Bob Again, 6. Greta.
Spencer Again
Spencer walked around the edge of the courtyard. He kept his eyes down to ensure he didn't make eye contact with any of those working on the new wall and window on the other side of the square. He continued on until he was also out of view from the main hall. Placing his good hand on a ledge, he wedged one foot firmly into a convenient notch and swung himself up, keeping himself hidden behind the piles of stone from the rebuilding efforts.
He wasn't hiding. Not really. He just needed a break.
He needed a break from the looks and the whispering and the not belonging. He couldn't get a break from the loneliness, which was at its peak when Miloth was asleep and Healer Morgan was busy with other duties, but he could sit here and relax in the sun and let his guard down for just a fucking minute.
He considered finding the Hall's Harper, and getting him to write a letter for him. But to who? He thought of Brendon, and Haley. He thought of Zack and Pete. He knew the Weyr had gotten word of his injuries and enforced stay, but he wondered if they missed him, like he missed them. He thought of his sisters, and even his foster brother, Ryan, who he hadn't seen since he'd Impressed Miloth. He thought it would be nice to see his mother.
It had only been ten days since the accident, and Spencer was pretty sure he was going out of his shell. Never had he done so little. He and Miloth had been grounded for at least three sevendays, to allow her wing and wrenched muscles to heal. It rankled on him. He'd grown up busy in a farming hold, and then at the Weyr after he'd been searched. Even before he Impressed Miloth there had always been occupation. Since then, of course, his entire life had been a whirl of training and caring for his dragon and messenger duties and every other thing that went with being a dragonrider.
And now he was just... here.
Master Schechter had given him leave to assist with the building work or sit in with the apprentices while they were doing their training, but there was only so much he could do with one hand. His other was still strapped to a board, and resting in a sling that hung around his neck. It didn't hurt much, if he kept it still. At least he favoured his right hand for most things.
Poor Miloth couldn't help with any heavy lifting. Or fly. The watchdragon from the nearby Hold had brought two large wherries for her to feed on since she couldn't hunt, but her appetite was not at all what it usually was.
Spencer would take her on walks, balance unsteady with an awkward wing and sore leg, to keep her exercised. He tried to stay positive, concentrating on feelings of happiness at her continued recovery, and confidence that they would soon be home in their weyr. She had a typical dragon's memory, and found it difficult to understand how much longer they would be confined to this place. Every couple of days he had to again convince her to stay on the ground, that it wasn't worth possibly exacerbating her injuries by even trying to fly.
I can go between very quickly. I would hardly need to fly at all!
Shells. He hadn't realised she was listening in on his thoughts.
"No, Miloth. It's the take off that would the most dangerous part. You could be hurt even worse. We don't want to be stuck on the ground any longer than we have to."
As frustrating as it was, Spencer was glad that she had no real memory of the explosion, of being thrown into the air. He kept replaying the feeling of the flying strap snapping and burning across his chest, and of waking up to see people everywhere, and the ground scattered with debris.
I remember calling to you. I remember that you could not hear me. That you would not speak.
Spencer closed his eyes. I am sorry, Miloth. I hear you now. Everything is okay now.
The image of smoke billowing through the hole in the wall, of the chaos and disaster came to mind, and Spencer opened his eyes and shook his head to clear it away.
And I remember that the other one stayed with me and let me know that you were not gone.
That had been the strangest part. If Bryar hadn't been there, Spencer doesn't know how different things might have been. After all that time he had spent wondering about Bryar, imagining what he was really like, Spencer was aware of how surreal it was to now be spending time with him.
He talked to the Healers and wouldn't let them take you from me.
Yes. I know. Spencer was very grateful for that. They owed him so much.
He knew what might happen if they took you away. He has very sad memories in his heart.
Bryar was so ... intriguing. More so now that Spencer had the chance of spending time with him each day. The sadness followed him around, and Spencer was never sure if he was making it all worse by his very presence. But then every now and then, Spencer would catch him off guard and he would bark out a genuine laugh. His voice was furry and of a lighter tone than expected. Spencer would talk to him sometimes; ask him questions, trying to get a response. Most of the time the response came in grunts and shrugs. Bryar would scowl and glare at the floor rather than at Spencer's face.
He squirmed against the rock he was sitting on and shook his hair back out of his eyes. The rock was warm along his thighs and the sun shone on the back of his neck.
If he leant to the left he had a good sight line into the work room of the main hall. He could see Bryar there being all focused, concentrating on the piece he was working with. He had capable hands; not as beefy as his build suggested, almost sensitive looking.
Spencer could still recall the feeling of Bryar's hand on his upper arm as the Weyr Dragonhealer had set the bone in Miloth's wing. A wave of echoed pain had washed over him, and he had felt his head spin. His stomach had heaved, the ground suddenly appearing at the wrong angle. Another hand had held his hip until he got his balance. It had felt good. He didn't move away.
And when a voice had murmured in his ear, "Pe... Smith. Stay calm. She needs that," Spencer had turned his head and locked eyes with Bryar. There had been so much pain there. Loss. But Bryar had nodded, and Spencer's head had moved in agreement. Up. Down. Yes he could stay calm. Of course he could. He always stayed calm. You could ask anyone he knew!
"That's good. Well, tell your dragon that, Smith. She's the one who needs to know right now."
He must have spoken aloud.
Bryar's arms had been steady and strong around him. He wasn't as tall as Spencer had always assumed, but Spencer still fit comfortably against his chest.
Spencer watched as Bryar pushed up his sleeves and wiped his forehead on his forearm. The workroom was obviously hotter than where Spencer was sitting, because Bryar shook the sleeves back down and then shrugged out of his hooded jacket. Spencer couldn't recall having seen him in just a tunic, with his arms bare like that.
He leant further, hoping to get a clearer view. Bryar turned his head and Spencer ducked back, his heart beating loudly in his ears. He really hoped he hadn't been seen. He sat, frozen for a few minutes, wondering if he dared look again. What if Bryar had taken off the tunic? He might be standing with no shirt at all. Spencer really didn't want to miss that.
He shook his head. What the shards was he thinking?
So, he was obviously very bored and horny.
Yeah. He was definitely horny. It was just so strange being here. And as well as not having his usual occupations, Spencer didn't have his usual outlets.
Life as a dragonrider had a certain freedom that he certainly hadn't witnessed in the Hall. And life as a green dragonrider had a particular identity and expectation. He was safe to seek as many casual or meaningful attachments as he was comfortable with. The more at ease a greenrider was with their sexual identity, the more easily they could meet the needs of their dragon, and support her in her mating cycle.
Spencer was more than comfortable with all of that, in the Weyr. He was one of many, for a start; there were over a hundred green dragonriders in his Weyr. Here he was one; an oddity.
On the one hand he was deferred to and treated as an honoured guest on the basis of his rank as a rider. He was invited to dine with the journeymen and women, even though most of the apprentices were more his age.
On the other hand, most of the people of the Hall had only the most lurid and superstitious knowledge of weyr life, and the bolder of them seemed to think they were at liberty to make comments and suggestions to him, mostly based on the assumptions that either he was available to any who took a passing interest, or that they were all in danger of him bending them to his perverted will.
Master Schechter had made an effort to dismiss these degrading beliefs, and always treated Spencer with the politest and warmest of courtesies. He was fairly new to the post of Mastersmith, though, and evidently was fighting his own battles against longstanding prejudices.
There had been one situation several days previously as Spencer had made his way between the tables to take his meal with Healer Morgan. He'd had to angle sideways to slip through the space where a bench was pushed out a little from the table. It was difficult not to brush against the men seated on either side, and as he lifted his arms to wiggle through a hand had suddenly grabbed hold of his arse, squeezing the cheek painfully hard before stroking down his thigh. Spencer had squawked and jumped and turned to see who had touched him. Two gangly apprentices were busy falling over each other laughing as a third put on an expression of defiant unconcern and let his eyes slide over Spencer's body from head to foot.
Spencer had summoned his dragonrider pride and drawn himself to his full height before meeting the young man's gaze, holding it, and tilting his head to one side. He examined him for a few moments before taking a breath and granting himself a small eye roll, hiding the wince as it pulled on bruised tissue in his temple.
"I really don't think so." Spencer had shrugged his shoulders dismissively before continuing on his way. He could feel his stomach muscles quivering from holding in the tension, and made a point of keeping his gait relaxed and slow. Behind him there was a roar of laughter. He hoped the flush wasn't showing on his cheeks.
Suddenly the jeering had died down. Spencer couldn't resist the urge to look over his shoulder and see what had happened. Bryar was standing there, glaring at the group. He had continued staring until each of them had turned back to their meal and started eating in silence.
Spencer hadn't had any trouble in the dining hall since, but he still avoided the apprentices as much as he could.
Spencer wondered briefly what Bryar's dragon had been like. What he'd been like in a mating flight. He wouldn't have minded that outcome. Before he had a chance to be shocked at himself, Miloth replied.
I would have liked that, too. This one is strong. I'm sure his Dradineth would have flown well and caught me. Even though I am very fast.
Spencer gasped and coughed on nothing. As he shook his head, a thought occurred to him. How did you know his dragon's name? It was vaguely familiar to him; he must have heard it when he first heard Bryar's story in his early days at the Weyr.
I asked this one. He told me.
Miloth! I can't believe you...
He was not angry with me. It was good for him to speak of Dradineth. No one here remembers his name with him.
Still!
Miloth was supremely unrepentant, and didn't offer any other information to Spencer.
He wondered what else Miloth knew.
His body felt charged and restless, and for a moment Spencer considered quickly taking the edge off the constant sexual frustration, and enjoying a quick release. He was well hidden, after all.
Spencer leant cautiously back over to look into the workroom. He couldn't see Bryar at all now.
He found himself wondering again, what it would have been like if Bryar's Dradineth had flown Miloth. He squirmed and rubbed himself through his trousers.
A large bell rang, signalling the start of the tenth hour. Spencer sighed and took his hand away. It was almost time to see the healers, and then he would need to take Miloth for a walk.
Spencer wriggled forward using his heels to pull himself along until he was close enough to the edge of the outcrop to push off with his working arm and jump down.
He felt weary already even though he hadn't done anything. Maybe after lunch he and Miloth would nap. And that would be another day in the Smithcraft Hall.
~
When Spencer finished his daily session with Healer Morgan, having his dressings changed and his arm checked over, he walked out and saw Bryar standing next to Miloth, one hand leaning on her knee joint as he stretched over to rub her eye ridge.
Spencer stopped several paces away, tried to fold his arms - before remembering why that wasn't possible - and then settled with a hand resting on one hip, taking all his weight on that leg.
I have an itch. He knows just the place to scratch.
Miloth's eyes were partly lidded and whirling a contented blue.
Spencer was hit by a wave of something uncomfortable in his stomach, and his chest felt tight.
He cleared his throat and spoke aloud to Miloth, "I should get some oil. Can't neglect your hide just because we're not going between."
Bryar leapt back in surprise, snatching his hand off Miloth's leg. His eyes were really blue, almost exactly the same shade as Miloth's.
"She had an itch."
"Yes, I know. She told me."
Bryar's eyes narrowed for a moment and Spencer wondered if he saw a flicker of confusion cross his face.
You are angry? With him? Are you angry with me? Miloth crooned and limped closer to him, whuffling breath over his face.
Immediately, Spencer felt awful. He didn't want either of them feeling bad. He wasn't even sure what the problem was. It was impossible that he was feeling jealous of his dragon! Her love for him was as much a part of him as his heartbeat. He felt ridiculous.
"Hey, I'll go." Bob interrupted his thoughts. "I shouldn't have just... without you here..."
Spencer could feel Miloth worrying about Bryar. Spencer felt like shit.
"No it's fine. Don't go. I... I'm glad she has someone else to talk to." Spencer reached a hand towards Bryar, but he didn't mirror the action. "And I guess... I'm glad you get to talk to her.'
Bryar's face softened. His eyes were still sad, but there was definitely a hint of a smile as he turned and looked away to the side. Spencer swallowed and took another step closer, again reaching his hand out. He wrapped his fingers around Bryar's wrist, turning his hand flat, and then slid his own palm across it. Despite all the time they'd spent together, it was the first time they'd touched since the day of the accident when Spencer had been held so snugly into Bryar's chest, steady and strong. He hoped that offering a formal introduction was an appropriate apology for all the insensitivity and selfishness he'd displayed. His skin was warm.
He finished the slide and then quickly returned his hand to Bryar's wrist, not sure if he was offering comfort or requesting it. Bryar curled his fingers up and gently squeezed. It didn't really seem to matter either way.
The jealousy in Spencer's gut drained away, leaving something else altogether. He remembered the image that had come to his mind earlier, of Bryar, caught up in the thrall of a mating flight. He ducked his head and blinked it away. His heart started beating faster.
Spencer heard a sharp intake of breath, and looked up through his lashes to see Bryar biting his lip.
Spencer stood still, not wanting to take his hand away, but not wanting to push things too far. He didn't want Bryar thinking that all those people with their taunts and prejudices were right. He didn't want to just be some proddy green rider.
He wanted Bryar to know that he was honestly wanting to be his friend. That he enjoyed his company. This whole thing would have been so much easier if Bryar hadn't also been standing there with his dragon-blue eyes and his halo of soft gingery-blond hair and his strong, capable arms.
You are also attractive, Penth.
Thank you, he thought with a huff. But there's no reason to think that Bryar is interested in me apart from you.
He should be interested in you. He would enjoy sleeping with you very much.
A flush appeared on Bryar's cheeks.
What are you doing? Spencer thought sternly at her. It was not right for a dragon to take so much initiative.
Miloth stretched her neck and rested her head down on her folded front legs.
I do not know why you are cross. It has been many days that you have not been with someone. It would be good for both of you.
Son of a watchwher, Miloth. Stop trying to set me up!
Bryar cleared his throat.
"I'm going to... I'll be."
He looked down to where his hand was still covered by Spencer's. With another cough, he let go and shoved his hands deep into his pockets and took a step back before turning on his heel and retreating into the Hall.
"Miloth, I can't believe you."
He is not angry, so you should not be angry.
Spencer wilted at the hesitant tone of his dragon's voice.
"I'm not... I'm not angry." He leant against her neck, burying his face in her hide. "This isn't easy for you, either."
He enjoyed the feeling of Miloth's rumbling as it vibrated along her throat.
I still have an itch, she said, placidly. Right there.
next
~
Thankyou to maple_mahogany for all the hand holding and advice, and to barmy_bunk for the beta.
Disclaimer: The Pern universe and the world, creatures and customs that belong to it remain the intellectual property of Anne McCaffrey, and the characters referenced in this piece are fictional representations of real people. No offense or infringement is intended, and no profit is being made.