Dragons (ficlet 9/?)
Title: Bob Once More
Rating: Not Intended for Children (Adult Language)
Fandom: Bandom/Dragonriders of Pern crossover (posted for bandom_pern)
Pairing: Bob/Spencer
Warnings: None
Words: 3070
Summary: Bob is avoiding everyone.
Previous Ficlets in the Series: 1. Bob, 2. Spencer, 3. Brendon, 4. Brian, 5. Bob Again, 6. Greta, 7. Spencer Again, 8. Miloth.
Bob Once More
~
Bob lay in the dark, staring at the ceiling. His heart was beating so hard that he thought he'd be able to see his bare chest jumping with it if he opened the glow basket next to his bed.
This was the third night in a row that he'd been woken with the same dream. He rubbed his face, trying to chase the images away.
It made sense that days of ignoring his attraction to Smith would come back to haunt him at night. All the hours he'd spent looking at the ground and not at Smith's bright smile and amusing, withering glare, and kept his gaze away from his oddly elegant hands, with his own hands firmly in his pockets, keeping them safely in check. Not touching, not threading his fingers through his hair, not running his palm down the line of his thigh. And now it was all being lived out in his dreams.
Bob had managed to not think about sex much at all since he'd lost his… since he'd come to the Hall. He'd worked hard to prove that Brian had had good reason to sponsor him to the craft, and hadn't just been doing a favour for an old friend.
He'd kept to himself most of the time, the loss just too raw. Even now his insides felt like an open wound. At first it had been so painful to deliberately speak to this new dragon, but the situation had left him no choice. The need of the dragon had been so overwhelming. It had been too similar to his accident. His own beloved Dradineth had not understood that he was alive. He had gone between and Bob had finally woken up, burned and broken, to find half his soul missing. And ever since then he'd existed as a part person. Still living and breathing, though he wasn't really sure why he bothered.
Brian and Greta were a big part of that. Neither had let him stay totally cocooned away. Brian's stubborn friendship, and Greta's warmth had kept him connected to life even when he would have been happier to just fade away altogether. But they would be there, gently teasing him and treating him as if he was still real, and reminding him to breathe.
And now... now there was this hint of life.
Of course, things were never that easy. And Bob had no idea what to do with it all. His first instinct had been to just hide from Smith, and that's what he'd done for the last three days.
It hadn't been easy, since they'd kind of fallen into a pattern of spending any free hours together. Smith would wander by the main hall as he was finishing up his tasks for the day, or Bob would be hovering after meals, keeping an eye on the apprentices, making sure none of those little shits were giving him any grief. It was easy to then end up helping him with Miloth, spending the hours before sleep together. Bob had had to disappear from the dining hall pretty quickly to avoid him. His evenings had been really dull. Last night he'd even taken refuge with Greta, sitting stony faced while she teased him about having better things, or people, to do.
It was a little more difficult to hide from Miloth. Every time she made a little remark about one of the craftsmen passing by, her humour sharp and cutting - just like her rider - reminded him of how much Dradineth would have liked her. She was just his type. Bob snorted to himself at the irony.
Because of course, Smith was just his type. He guessed that it wasn't really a surprise that after all this time he'd start feeling something, and it would be this.
But how could he explain that to Smith? And why would he even care? He must have heaps of partners at the Weyr where he was at home. Accepted. Besides, Smith had enough to put up with trying to put up with the stupid and ignorant crafters trying to grab his ass and being simultaneously disgusted and fascinated by him. The last thing he needed was to have one of the few people he seemed comfortable with wanting to bury his face in his hair.
Miloth hadn't exactly made a secret of her attempt to push the two of them together. He wasn't used to a dragon being so damn pushy. No doubt she was needing some stimulation. Smith's reaction hadn't given Bob much confidence, though. He had seemed pretty much horrified at the thought.
He'd be going back to the weyr soon. It wasn't really worth dealing with all of this crap just for the chance that Smith didn't see him as a grumpy buffer zone who happened to like his dragon. He would hate to misread the situation and have Smith mad at him. He had found himself looking forward to the contact with Miloth. He would hate to lose that.
It was difficult to decide who he would miss more. The dragon, or her rider.
Bob took a deep breath and shoved that thought aside, just in case Miloth was awake and listening in. He wasn't naïve enough to think that she was unaware of his feelings about her rider, but he knew that dragons very rarely offered information about other people. Most dragons, anyway. Hopefully even a dragon as nosy as this one. He was kind of relying on it.
It wasn't going to be a problem today, however. Today was a Rest Day. There had been mild temperatures and clear skies, so the Hold had called a Gather.
His room was still dark. It was probably several hours before dawn, so Bob did his best to shut off his whirling thoughts, and ignore his body, responding to his contemplation of Smith's lovelife, and tried to fall asleep again.
~
Bob woke again. The sunlight was streaming in through the cracks in the window shutters. He could hear the bustle of the Hall preparing for the day out.
When there was a Gather everyone in the Hall got a little dressed up, made plans with their friends to have a few ales, and put on their comfortable shoes, ready for an evening of dancing.
He lay there listening for a long time, until the last of the rushing about and calling out died down and there was silence.
Bob's stomach was growling and grumbling since he'd lain in past his usual breakfast time, waiting for the wonderful quiet of the empty Hall. He rolled out of bed and pulled on his most comfortable clothes, and went in search of some breakfast.
The kitchen was deserted.
Bob filled a jug from the pot of klah warming on the stove, and walked back through the empty eating cavern. He didn't see a single soul as he crossed the courtyard or as he climbed up to the sleeping level.
There were no apprentices running along the corridors or pushing past him on the stairs, and no journeymen bitching about the tasks the masters had given them for the day.
Once upon a time, Bob would have been a part of one of the groups walking down the path towards the Hold. Or flying in with his Wing from the Weyr. He'd have grumbled a little if they hurried him along too much, and would have spent most of the day getting his friends out of trouble, but there'd usually be a pretty hold girl willing to be seen dancing with a dragonrider, or a nervous young boy hoping not to be seen by anyone he knew disappearing behind the stalls with him. There were good memories in amongst those thoughts even though he hadn't been to a Gather in Turns.
A few days before, Smith had asked him if he was looking forward to the Gather. For a moment Bob had considered going. He thought it might actually be okay to spend the day with this guy. He'd shrugged and changed the subject, not really ready to come up with an answer.
In the end he hadn't needed an answer, because he'd had that stupid, fucking, amazing dream, and ever since he had hardly been able to look in Smith's direction, let alone in the face.
He was really looking forward to spending the entire day by himself. No more avoiding people. No more avoiding dragons.
Bob pushed the door of his room open with his foot and then froze.
His room wasn't empty.
Smith was standing with his back to his door, looking out of the window down the valley where the Gather flags and tents could be seen.
No one came to Bob's room. Ever. He couldn't even work out how Smith would know which was his.
Bob didn’t know what to do.
Of course Smith would know he’d been avoiding him, but hopefully he just figured it was because Bob was a surly bastard who had no friends. Not because Bob had been dreaming about Smith naked and kissing him. He caught himself looking down the long curved line of Smith’s back, the way his shirt hung off his shoulders.
Bob closed his eyes and swallowed.
Smith was still turned away from Bob, and Bob wondered if he could just back out of the room quietly without him noticing.
“Decided not to go, then?”
Smith's voice made Bob jump. He brought two hands to the jug and held it away from his shirt until it stopped sloshing against the brim.
“I never do.”
“That's what I figured.”
Smith turned to look over his shoulder. His head was tilted to the side and he looked up from behind the long section of hair that hung down over his face. He reached up with long fingers and pushed the hair back, but it swung straight back down. Bob's fingers twitched slightly, resisting the urge to reach over and hook it behind his ear for him. The bruising on Smith's temple from the accident had almost completely cleared up, and he didn't flinch as he raised his eyebrow and held Bob's gaze.
The silence of the Hall hung over the room, seeming to make the silence between them even heavier.
“Are you coming in?” asked Smith. He leant his hip against the window sill, and rolled his body weight around until he was facing Bob.
The door swung closed behind him as he stepped into the room. Bob put the jug down on the work table next to his bed.
Smith walked over until he was standing next to Bob. Bob noticed the long line of his torso, and the way he was taller than he seemed on first impression. Bob was waiting for these things to stop taking him by surprise.
He was so close. If Bob turned his head around, then he'd probably be looking straight into Smith's eyes. He stared at the wall in front of him instead. The rock was smooth and grey.
“Look, Bryar,” Smith started, “if you want me to go away, I will. I can do that. I never meant to make things more difficult for you.”
Bob cleared his throat. He wasn't sure what to say. Things were definitely more difficult now. And confusing. But, “I don't want you to go away.”
“Just, you know, Miloth says you've been avoiding her, too.”
Bob could hear the reproach and hurt in Smith's voice. He didn't blame him. Bob had never meant to upset the dragon. He felt sick.
“I'm sorry,” he mumbled. I'm sorry, he thought at her. There was no reply. He wondered if Smith had waited for his dragon to nap before approaching him like this.
“I've been watching you.”
Bob knew that.
“You don't seem to have anything going on with anyone. I mean... I'm not really sure how you do things here, but you don't seem to be taken or anything.”
Bob would have laughed, if he hadn't felt so much like throwing up. “I'm not taken.”
“And, well, she might be wrong,” Smith's voice clearly expressed his opinion that she never was, “but Miloth seems to think that you're, well... interested. In me.”
He should have known better than think she'd keep that to herself. The air was getting really thick in Bob's room. The window shutters were open, but he needed more fresh air to breathe.
“If she is wrong, you could just say-”
“She's not wrong.” The words seemed to rush out of him before he had decided whether or not to answer.
Smith stepped close to him. Bob could feel breath on his cheek. He put his hands on the worktable to help keep himself steady.
Bob tried to remember how he'd managed to have actual conversations with Smith for the last couple of weeks. He knew he'd strung actual words together into sentences, and even cracked a few jokes. He could do this.
“You want me to go, now?” Smith's voice was husky in his ear.
Bob closed his eyes and shook his head. His jaw was clenched so tightly it was starting to ache.
Smith used his good hand to pick up Bob's arm, and slipped into the space between Bob and the table. Raising himself up onto his toes he tilted his hips and shuffled back until he was sitting in front of Bob.
A foot swung out and hooked around the back of Bob's thigh.
“C'mere.”
Bob could feel his lips slide into a smile, and he let himself be dragged in, stumbling as Smith gave an extra little oomph to the movement. He bumped into Smith's other knee and put his hand back down on the table, now framing either side of his hips. He could hear his heart beating.
He hadn't been this close to another person since he'd left the Weyr. He didn't really count Greta in that. She was a Healer. It occurred to Bob that she was going to give him such a hard time over this. For a sweet and caring soul she had a wicked and relentless sense of humour. It was one of Brian's favourite things about her.
Bob could feel lips ghosting over the skin near his ear, breathing on his neck. A hand gently touched his arm, sliding up to his shoulder. He didn't move. He waited. His breathing seemed to be getting louder. And then he realised he could hear Smith breathing as well.
He opened his eyes.
They looked at each other for another moment. Bob couldn't remember how to move, or what to do next. All he could do was listen to the rhythm of his heartbeat and wait to see what would happen.
“Bryar. This okay?”
He nodded his head, not sure if he could trust his voice.
“Okay.”
Bob wondered if Smith was reassuring himself.
There were fingertips on his neck, and then a little pressure. He went with it, and tilted his head. He felt breath on his cheek, and then lips. They pressed gently for a few seconds and then moved closer to his ear.
Bob still couldn't move. It was like he was frozen in place.
A voice whispered in his ear. “Yeah?”
It took a moment to remember to answer. He wasn't sure what he would do if Smith stopped.
“Yeah.” It came out sounding hoarse and scratchy, but Smith seemed to believe him, because fingers slid into his hair and then the lips were on his. They were warm and soft, and moved slowly even though he stayed still.
Bob leant forward, adding his own weight to the kiss. Smith made a pleased, purring sound that sent warmth straight to Bob's gut. He could feel the backs of his thighs starting to tingle. It was like a slow thaw setting in. Bob parted his lips a little way and slid his mouth from side to side, just enough to feel the pull from Smith's lips catch on his. Smith smiled.
“Yeah,” Bob whispered again. The hand around the back of his neck got stronger, holding him more firmly in place as Smith arched up closer to him. He could feel the tip of a tongue against his lips now, and he had the sudden urge to just taste. So he did.
He tasted Smith's lips, and the skin between his mouth and his ear. And the skin of his neck. Smith tasted good, and underlying all of it was the unmistakable musky scent of dragon.
Bob brought one hand up towards Smith's waist. He could feel the heat coming off his body, through the fabric of his shirt. It felt amazing and frightening to be touching another person. On purpose. But he'd come this far.
“Bryar,” Smith whispered.
“Bob.”
Smith pulled back and gave him a questioning glance.
“My name is Bob.”
“Okay, Bob. Then you have to call me Spencer.”
“Spencer.” 'Penth' he thought as he said it.
I'm sorry!
It took a moment for Bob to realise that neither of them had spoken. Miloth's mental tone sounded so contrite that Bob wanted to reassure her. What could she have to apologise for?
And then a voice was calling out from the courtyard.
“Spencer Smith! Show your face!”
Spencer swore, resting his forehead against Bob's shoulder.
“I swear by the egg of my dragon, he has the worst timing of anyone I have ever known.”
Bob couldn't tell if he was laughing, or snarling. Maybe it was a bit of both.
“Spen-cerrr! Dude, your dragon has already told us you're here, so stop hiding and get your ass out here!”
“This isn't happening.” Spencer was detangling himself from Bob. He jumped off the table and stalked over to the window. He leant out, calling, “Urie! Up here! I am going to... never mind. I'll come down.”
He turned back to Bob. The mask of pissed off exasperation was slipping, and revealing something more hesitant and nervous than Bob would have expected.
“I really am sorry. Bob, I... I didn't know they'd be coming up today. I would have... Well. Um. I'd better....”
With that, he was gone.
And Bob was finally alone in his room.
next
~
Thankyou to maple_mahogany and miss_diverse for the read throughs and to reni_days 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.
[PS. I'm trying to think of a name for the series. Any suggestions?]
Rating: Not Intended for Children (Adult Language)
Fandom: Bandom/Dragonriders of Pern crossover (posted for bandom_pern)
Pairing: Bob/Spencer
Warnings: None
Words: 3070
Summary: Bob is avoiding everyone.
Previous Ficlets in the Series: 1. Bob, 2. Spencer, 3. Brendon, 4. Brian, 5. Bob Again, 6. Greta, 7. Spencer Again, 8. Miloth.
Bob Once More
~
Bob lay in the dark, staring at the ceiling. His heart was beating so hard that he thought he'd be able to see his bare chest jumping with it if he opened the glow basket next to his bed.
This was the third night in a row that he'd been woken with the same dream. He rubbed his face, trying to chase the images away.
It made sense that days of ignoring his attraction to Smith would come back to haunt him at night. All the hours he'd spent looking at the ground and not at Smith's bright smile and amusing, withering glare, and kept his gaze away from his oddly elegant hands, with his own hands firmly in his pockets, keeping them safely in check. Not touching, not threading his fingers through his hair, not running his palm down the line of his thigh. And now it was all being lived out in his dreams.
Bob had managed to not think about sex much at all since he'd lost his… since he'd come to the Hall. He'd worked hard to prove that Brian had had good reason to sponsor him to the craft, and hadn't just been doing a favour for an old friend.
He'd kept to himself most of the time, the loss just too raw. Even now his insides felt like an open wound. At first it had been so painful to deliberately speak to this new dragon, but the situation had left him no choice. The need of the dragon had been so overwhelming. It had been too similar to his accident. His own beloved Dradineth had not understood that he was alive. He had gone between and Bob had finally woken up, burned and broken, to find half his soul missing. And ever since then he'd existed as a part person. Still living and breathing, though he wasn't really sure why he bothered.
Brian and Greta were a big part of that. Neither had let him stay totally cocooned away. Brian's stubborn friendship, and Greta's warmth had kept him connected to life even when he would have been happier to just fade away altogether. But they would be there, gently teasing him and treating him as if he was still real, and reminding him to breathe.
And now... now there was this hint of life.
Of course, things were never that easy. And Bob had no idea what to do with it all. His first instinct had been to just hide from Smith, and that's what he'd done for the last three days.
It hadn't been easy, since they'd kind of fallen into a pattern of spending any free hours together. Smith would wander by the main hall as he was finishing up his tasks for the day, or Bob would be hovering after meals, keeping an eye on the apprentices, making sure none of those little shits were giving him any grief. It was easy to then end up helping him with Miloth, spending the hours before sleep together. Bob had had to disappear from the dining hall pretty quickly to avoid him. His evenings had been really dull. Last night he'd even taken refuge with Greta, sitting stony faced while she teased him about having better things, or people, to do.
It was a little more difficult to hide from Miloth. Every time she made a little remark about one of the craftsmen passing by, her humour sharp and cutting - just like her rider - reminded him of how much Dradineth would have liked her. She was just his type. Bob snorted to himself at the irony.
Because of course, Smith was just his type. He guessed that it wasn't really a surprise that after all this time he'd start feeling something, and it would be this.
But how could he explain that to Smith? And why would he even care? He must have heaps of partners at the Weyr where he was at home. Accepted. Besides, Smith had enough to put up with trying to put up with the stupid and ignorant crafters trying to grab his ass and being simultaneously disgusted and fascinated by him. The last thing he needed was to have one of the few people he seemed comfortable with wanting to bury his face in his hair.
Miloth hadn't exactly made a secret of her attempt to push the two of them together. He wasn't used to a dragon being so damn pushy. No doubt she was needing some stimulation. Smith's reaction hadn't given Bob much confidence, though. He had seemed pretty much horrified at the thought.
He'd be going back to the weyr soon. It wasn't really worth dealing with all of this crap just for the chance that Smith didn't see him as a grumpy buffer zone who happened to like his dragon. He would hate to misread the situation and have Smith mad at him. He had found himself looking forward to the contact with Miloth. He would hate to lose that.
It was difficult to decide who he would miss more. The dragon, or her rider.
Bob took a deep breath and shoved that thought aside, just in case Miloth was awake and listening in. He wasn't naïve enough to think that she was unaware of his feelings about her rider, but he knew that dragons very rarely offered information about other people. Most dragons, anyway. Hopefully even a dragon as nosy as this one. He was kind of relying on it.
It wasn't going to be a problem today, however. Today was a Rest Day. There had been mild temperatures and clear skies, so the Hold had called a Gather.
His room was still dark. It was probably several hours before dawn, so Bob did his best to shut off his whirling thoughts, and ignore his body, responding to his contemplation of Smith's lovelife, and tried to fall asleep again.
~
Bob woke again. The sunlight was streaming in through the cracks in the window shutters. He could hear the bustle of the Hall preparing for the day out.
When there was a Gather everyone in the Hall got a little dressed up, made plans with their friends to have a few ales, and put on their comfortable shoes, ready for an evening of dancing.
He lay there listening for a long time, until the last of the rushing about and calling out died down and there was silence.
Bob's stomach was growling and grumbling since he'd lain in past his usual breakfast time, waiting for the wonderful quiet of the empty Hall. He rolled out of bed and pulled on his most comfortable clothes, and went in search of some breakfast.
The kitchen was deserted.
Bob filled a jug from the pot of klah warming on the stove, and walked back through the empty eating cavern. He didn't see a single soul as he crossed the courtyard or as he climbed up to the sleeping level.
There were no apprentices running along the corridors or pushing past him on the stairs, and no journeymen bitching about the tasks the masters had given them for the day.
Once upon a time, Bob would have been a part of one of the groups walking down the path towards the Hold. Or flying in with his Wing from the Weyr. He'd have grumbled a little if they hurried him along too much, and would have spent most of the day getting his friends out of trouble, but there'd usually be a pretty hold girl willing to be seen dancing with a dragonrider, or a nervous young boy hoping not to be seen by anyone he knew disappearing behind the stalls with him. There were good memories in amongst those thoughts even though he hadn't been to a Gather in Turns.
A few days before, Smith had asked him if he was looking forward to the Gather. For a moment Bob had considered going. He thought it might actually be okay to spend the day with this guy. He'd shrugged and changed the subject, not really ready to come up with an answer.
In the end he hadn't needed an answer, because he'd had that stupid, fucking, amazing dream, and ever since he had hardly been able to look in Smith's direction, let alone in the face.
He was really looking forward to spending the entire day by himself. No more avoiding people. No more avoiding dragons.
Bob pushed the door of his room open with his foot and then froze.
His room wasn't empty.
Smith was standing with his back to his door, looking out of the window down the valley where the Gather flags and tents could be seen.
No one came to Bob's room. Ever. He couldn't even work out how Smith would know which was his.
Bob didn’t know what to do.
Of course Smith would know he’d been avoiding him, but hopefully he just figured it was because Bob was a surly bastard who had no friends. Not because Bob had been dreaming about Smith naked and kissing him. He caught himself looking down the long curved line of Smith’s back, the way his shirt hung off his shoulders.
Bob closed his eyes and swallowed.
Smith was still turned away from Bob, and Bob wondered if he could just back out of the room quietly without him noticing.
“Decided not to go, then?”
Smith's voice made Bob jump. He brought two hands to the jug and held it away from his shirt until it stopped sloshing against the brim.
“I never do.”
“That's what I figured.”
Smith turned to look over his shoulder. His head was tilted to the side and he looked up from behind the long section of hair that hung down over his face. He reached up with long fingers and pushed the hair back, but it swung straight back down. Bob's fingers twitched slightly, resisting the urge to reach over and hook it behind his ear for him. The bruising on Smith's temple from the accident had almost completely cleared up, and he didn't flinch as he raised his eyebrow and held Bob's gaze.
The silence of the Hall hung over the room, seeming to make the silence between them even heavier.
“Are you coming in?” asked Smith. He leant his hip against the window sill, and rolled his body weight around until he was facing Bob.
The door swung closed behind him as he stepped into the room. Bob put the jug down on the work table next to his bed.
Smith walked over until he was standing next to Bob. Bob noticed the long line of his torso, and the way he was taller than he seemed on first impression. Bob was waiting for these things to stop taking him by surprise.
He was so close. If Bob turned his head around, then he'd probably be looking straight into Smith's eyes. He stared at the wall in front of him instead. The rock was smooth and grey.
“Look, Bryar,” Smith started, “if you want me to go away, I will. I can do that. I never meant to make things more difficult for you.”
Bob cleared his throat. He wasn't sure what to say. Things were definitely more difficult now. And confusing. But, “I don't want you to go away.”
“Just, you know, Miloth says you've been avoiding her, too.”
Bob could hear the reproach and hurt in Smith's voice. He didn't blame him. Bob had never meant to upset the dragon. He felt sick.
“I'm sorry,” he mumbled. I'm sorry, he thought at her. There was no reply. He wondered if Smith had waited for his dragon to nap before approaching him like this.
“I've been watching you.”
Bob knew that.
“You don't seem to have anything going on with anyone. I mean... I'm not really sure how you do things here, but you don't seem to be taken or anything.”
Bob would have laughed, if he hadn't felt so much like throwing up. “I'm not taken.”
“And, well, she might be wrong,” Smith's voice clearly expressed his opinion that she never was, “but Miloth seems to think that you're, well... interested. In me.”
He should have known better than think she'd keep that to herself. The air was getting really thick in Bob's room. The window shutters were open, but he needed more fresh air to breathe.
“If she is wrong, you could just say-”
“She's not wrong.” The words seemed to rush out of him before he had decided whether or not to answer.
Smith stepped close to him. Bob could feel breath on his cheek. He put his hands on the worktable to help keep himself steady.
Bob tried to remember how he'd managed to have actual conversations with Smith for the last couple of weeks. He knew he'd strung actual words together into sentences, and even cracked a few jokes. He could do this.
“You want me to go, now?” Smith's voice was husky in his ear.
Bob closed his eyes and shook his head. His jaw was clenched so tightly it was starting to ache.
Smith used his good hand to pick up Bob's arm, and slipped into the space between Bob and the table. Raising himself up onto his toes he tilted his hips and shuffled back until he was sitting in front of Bob.
A foot swung out and hooked around the back of Bob's thigh.
“C'mere.”
Bob could feel his lips slide into a smile, and he let himself be dragged in, stumbling as Smith gave an extra little oomph to the movement. He bumped into Smith's other knee and put his hand back down on the table, now framing either side of his hips. He could hear his heart beating.
He hadn't been this close to another person since he'd left the Weyr. He didn't really count Greta in that. She was a Healer. It occurred to Bob that she was going to give him such a hard time over this. For a sweet and caring soul she had a wicked and relentless sense of humour. It was one of Brian's favourite things about her.
Bob could feel lips ghosting over the skin near his ear, breathing on his neck. A hand gently touched his arm, sliding up to his shoulder. He didn't move. He waited. His breathing seemed to be getting louder. And then he realised he could hear Smith breathing as well.
He opened his eyes.
They looked at each other for another moment. Bob couldn't remember how to move, or what to do next. All he could do was listen to the rhythm of his heartbeat and wait to see what would happen.
“Bryar. This okay?”
He nodded his head, not sure if he could trust his voice.
“Okay.”
Bob wondered if Smith was reassuring himself.
There were fingertips on his neck, and then a little pressure. He went with it, and tilted his head. He felt breath on his cheek, and then lips. They pressed gently for a few seconds and then moved closer to his ear.
Bob still couldn't move. It was like he was frozen in place.
A voice whispered in his ear. “Yeah?”
It took a moment to remember to answer. He wasn't sure what he would do if Smith stopped.
“Yeah.” It came out sounding hoarse and scratchy, but Smith seemed to believe him, because fingers slid into his hair and then the lips were on his. They were warm and soft, and moved slowly even though he stayed still.
Bob leant forward, adding his own weight to the kiss. Smith made a pleased, purring sound that sent warmth straight to Bob's gut. He could feel the backs of his thighs starting to tingle. It was like a slow thaw setting in. Bob parted his lips a little way and slid his mouth from side to side, just enough to feel the pull from Smith's lips catch on his. Smith smiled.
“Yeah,” Bob whispered again. The hand around the back of his neck got stronger, holding him more firmly in place as Smith arched up closer to him. He could feel the tip of a tongue against his lips now, and he had the sudden urge to just taste. So he did.
He tasted Smith's lips, and the skin between his mouth and his ear. And the skin of his neck. Smith tasted good, and underlying all of it was the unmistakable musky scent of dragon.
Bob brought one hand up towards Smith's waist. He could feel the heat coming off his body, through the fabric of his shirt. It felt amazing and frightening to be touching another person. On purpose. But he'd come this far.
“Bryar,” Smith whispered.
“Bob.”
Smith pulled back and gave him a questioning glance.
“My name is Bob.”
“Okay, Bob. Then you have to call me Spencer.”
“Spencer.” 'Penth' he thought as he said it.
I'm sorry!
It took a moment for Bob to realise that neither of them had spoken. Miloth's mental tone sounded so contrite that Bob wanted to reassure her. What could she have to apologise for?
And then a voice was calling out from the courtyard.
“Spencer Smith! Show your face!”
Spencer swore, resting his forehead against Bob's shoulder.
“I swear by the egg of my dragon, he has the worst timing of anyone I have ever known.”
Bob couldn't tell if he was laughing, or snarling. Maybe it was a bit of both.
“Spen-cerrr! Dude, your dragon has already told us you're here, so stop hiding and get your ass out here!”
“This isn't happening.” Spencer was detangling himself from Bob. He jumped off the table and stalked over to the window. He leant out, calling, “Urie! Up here! I am going to... never mind. I'll come down.”
He turned back to Bob. The mask of pissed off exasperation was slipping, and revealing something more hesitant and nervous than Bob would have expected.
“I really am sorry. Bob, I... I didn't know they'd be coming up today. I would have... Well. Um. I'd better....”
With that, he was gone.
And Bob was finally alone in his room.
next
~
Thankyou to maple_mahogany and miss_diverse for the read throughs and to reni_days 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.
[PS. I'm trying to think of a name for the series. Any suggestions?]