Who

Merakh, A'dan

What

After sparring and "sparring." Merakh and A'dan rouse in the Igen pre-dawn.

When

It is before dawn on of the seventeenth day of the second month of the first turn of the 12th pass.

Where

Igen Weyr

OOC Date

 

merakh_default.jpg a-dan_default.jpg


A Swanky Room

The Bazaar has many things for sale, including privacy. One establishment leases rooms for short-term stays. The rooms are small and snug, featuring hearths and heavy bedclothes. For a little extra, there's a semi-private heated bath. Luxury.

It is the forty-seventh day of Winter and 48 degrees (outside).


(continued from [[ | Less Mouth More Fight]])

The interlude passed in heat and fire, pleasure-soaked, and Merakh slept well and deeply. There is a moment though when wakefulness threatens with the slight noises from the bazaar, and she stretches intently before rolling over to snuggle into her pillow. Her mind's not caught up yet, you see; when she discovers with slowly-opening eyes that her pillow is a guy's chest she stills, breath shallow, posture stiff for the moment. Shells, she fell asleep. He's still here, and apparently so is she. The unflappable guard is caught rather off-handed; then, very slowly, she tries to start creeping away.

A fire burned down to glowing embers radiates heat into the small room. A'dan is sprawled, leg thrown outside the covers because it's stuffy in the small room. Otherwise, warm, comfortable and… sounds. Strange sounds. Sounds… not quite right. And… it doesn't smell right either. Woodsmoke. That's not strange. Different linens, slightly musty and… citrus? "Hrmmm mmm…" he mumbles. The strange inputs stack up. He takes a deep breath and -hey!- movement! His eyes snap open, wakefulness instant. Tense. That citrusy scent… a woman's hair. Merakh. He relaxes slowly, letting Merakh extract herself, fingers trailing across her skin as she moves off of the arm that had been under her. He flexes and relaxes the hand. It tingles. Damn thing is fast asleep. The bronzerider stretches in place, tensing and relaxing muscles pleasantly sore. He smacks and scratches at his ribs watching Merakh as she rolls away.

Caught! Hearing the slap and scratch of nails on skin, Merakh turns her head to smile at him over her shoulder. "Good morning," she says softly, more out of a desire not to break the delicate atmosphere than any true demureness. Her muscles are clearly sore with good exercise, but there's a boneless languidness as she stands, hovering to keep her balance more successfully. "I'll be out of your hair in a jiffy." Here and there about the room, as she scoops up her clothes, there's a murmur that might be commentary on her need to stretch right now, and her nose wrinkles at the sight of her exercise clothes. Do not want. Weren't there other clothes… ha. Yes.

A'dan scrubs a hand across his stubbly, sparsely haired pate, "That shouldn't take long." He yanks the pillow behind him up and shifts, sitting up, hands laced across his belly, to better watch Merakh snatch up her things. "Good morning," he agrees. A'dan squints at the shuttered and draped windows. There's barely a glow of gray light. Narloth hadn't wakened him yet. So, it was early still. He looks down at the floor on his side of the bed. Brow furrowed A'dan leans over and snags a thin sleevless tunic puddled on the floor. He balls it up to toss at Merakh. "Early shift?"

Merakh snatches the tunic out of the air and pops it into the satchel she had with a muttered thanks. Then, idly, she wanders over to sit next to him, hands leaning on the bed and ankles demurely crossed. "No early shift. I've just not done this in a while, and never with a rider before, so you might say I'm a little uncertain of the etiquette of the situation?" One shoulder bumps gently against his. "I had fun though. Thank you." There's a lingering hand over his stubbled head, and just for a moment a warm hand on the nape of his neck. "You starved as well? I could do with a bath as well." Pause. "Not together." That gets a faint flush; despite just having slept together, despite being strong-willed, there are still some strange imperatives from her nowtimer upbringing.

A'dan rolls his head, catlike, into that brush of fingers. So many words. Women and the yammering. "Mmmrh," A'dan rumbles, eloquently, lifting a hand to trail nails lightly down the curve of ribs and waist, hand flipping to rest on Merakh's hip. Eyes track the curves slowly and… "Hmmm?" His eyebrows lift in query and then, reluctantly, his eyes. She's blushing. A'dan blinks and backtracks through the conversation. No shift. Rusty. Rider? Etiquette? Fun. Thanks. Food. Bath. Ah. He shifts on the bed, shrugging the pillow into a more comfortable spot and pressing the hand on Merakh's hip more firmly. He tosses a chin at the door, "Bathing room at the end of the hall. Saw it on our way up."

The grip against her hip is not objected to for long moments, and she even moves a little closer. "It's still very early," she finally says, and turns to slip down on her belly into the crook of his arm again, elbows bracing against the bed. "What do riders do in the mornings? Drilling, lazing about their weyrs, that kind of thing?" She looks down to the serrated muscles down one side, idly walking her fingertips down them. Right in the middle, there's a poke from a fingertip, not soft enough to tickle, not hard enough to hurt. "It'd be a waste of my morning if I have to sleep in alone." Women. Words. Still wants him. Rar.

Yeah. There's drilling all right. Whaaat? Maybe Merakh gets through all those words, maybe she doesn't. Somewhere in there A'dan silences Merakh in the best possible way. … Some time later, sweat slick and sweltering, Could we crack a window? A'dan, with a grunt of annoyance, kicks the tangle of sheets twisted 'round his foot clear off the bed, arms tightening once around Merakh as he does. "Bath." A stinging, stubble nuzzle, "Then food," he rumbles into the crook of Merakh's neck before rolling onto his back, with a satisfied grunt, arm outflung, hanging in open air. A'dan's own clothing inventory begins. Meh. Too much work. It's all here somewhere. Probably.

Merakh's egress from the bed is decidedly more languid the second time, and her cheeks a great deal more red. "Bath," she agrees with a happy sigh. "Then food." Then, because she almost trips over his discarded pants, she picks them up, tosses them at him and quickly wiggles into her own clothing. Men - considered dressed just with pants. Lucky men. "Your boots are on my side of the bed!" she carols over her shoulder as she grabs her pack and leaves the room, humming happily. Awkwardness meter: zero. Score!

The door clumps shut as A'dan extracts himself from pants. He leans over the side of the bed, looking for boots. "Boot!" he says at the door. There's just the one. But she's gone. Grrr. He leans further down to peer under the bed and, Ah. There it i— whoa! A'dan slips off the bed landing gracelessly in a pile. FWUMP! He snags the wayward boot and rights himself. He wasn't sure about the whole 'women in the Guard' thing, but, Merakh could certainly handle herself. Without drawing the curtain, A'dan cracks the window, Finally, a chill rush of air sweeping into the room. Blinking at the sudden light, the bronzerider squints, rubbing his face and stretching. There were more clothes… and… a jawcracking yawn. Mmmmmph. Blinking. A'dan slings on the fewest clothes he can get by with and sprawls across the bed, face buried in pillows. When Merakh returns, he's fast asleep.

Given that she takes her time in getting clean, and then hies off for food, it's not surprising that he's asleep when she shows up again. She inches into the room, carrying a wrapped packet and a pitcher. For a moment there's admiration due - that's a lot of back he's got there - but wakefulness must occur as well. Juggling full arms, she wanders over to his side of the bed and puts the things down, whisper-light, on the cabinet there before sinking her washed, clean self down on the bed next to his hips. "A'dan," she says quietly, hesitantly resting one hand on his shoulder for a tiny shake. "Come on, wake up. It'll soon be time to leave." Her hand tickles up his neck to rub at the stubble-hair again. "Rise and shine."

When Merakh sits, A'dan grumbles blearily, "Mmmrhpmmph." It is rather a lot of back. Slabby muscles shift as the bronzerider burrows into the pillows. He repeats, "Mmmrhphmmmph," muffled. At the touch and his name, he rolls onto his side in a series of hitches, partially curving around Merakh. And something catches his eye on the side table. Spying what can only be considered tribute, he scootches over. "Food?" Brows arc. Clearly it is, "Thanks." He reaches for the … what did she bring?

Merakh should be grateful she has a little spot on the bed left, given the way he curls and scoots over. She accomodates the movement a little, closest arm draping crosswise over his shoulder instead of denying curl-space. "Hey," she teases. "Pleasure. C'mon, sit up." There's man-breakfast, ranging from meat and eggs and all that lovely, artery-clogging stuff they get with, and a piece of sweetbread for her. Breaking off a piece to nibble on, she leans a little to the side to start her braid, getting it painfully straight. "You going to be ok?" she mutters, staring at the grunter. "I have to leave soon."

Sit up? Nope. A'dan props up on an elbow, snagging things that can be eaten by hand. This works until… eggs. Hmmm. Toast. Egg sandwich! Tada. "Thiff if gooh. Fankff." Stretching towards the pitcher, he tests the back of it with knuckles. Cool, juice or milk or water. Flipping two cups over, A'dan arcs brows in query, still chewing. Any for you? He pours, chewing still. Chewing. Swallowing. He clears his throat, brows drawing down, rolling onto his back to peer at Merakh. Okay? Was she worried about him? Worried about what? "Okay how?" He half-rolls over to snag more breakfast.

"Your leg," Merakh points out mildly. "Didn't seem to give you any trouble yesterday, but inquiring minds want to know." She leans to snag a cup of the juice, sipping slowly. Whilst there's an eye his way, her attention shifts to the sweetroll as she leans back against the seat his body forms, resting one elbow idly on his hip.

Mmmm. "Fine." Just a bruise. A nasty one. Already very colorful. "No reports to your Captain, if that's what you mean," his eyes flicker hard a moment before he stuffs more food and leans over to snag the juice and wash it down. All too soon, there's no more breakfast.

Oh, now she laughs. "I'm not worried about you talking to Captain Ladivos," she points out, and finishes her juice to put the cup down. "I'm still sorry though, but it's perhaps a good thing for you not to show other people your back then either." She didn't totally claw him up, but there were a few very happy moments last night. Turning, she snugs close for a second, kissing his forehead before her lips drift to the corner of his mouth. "I've got to go," is announced right there. "Anytime you want to repeat the experience though, count me in. I'll be glad for the sparring practice."

A'dan grunts, dismissing the worry. And scratches? Nothing to hide. He grunts at that too. Merakh draws close, he can smell her soapsand and the light smell of her hair. Lips brush as arms circle and tighten, belly tenses, legs sweep and prop and -whoopsie daisy- everyone's upright. Nose-to-nose. His eyes narrow, speculatively, "Sparring," riiiight. A quick, stubbly kiss to the mouth and A'dan steps back, hands dropping to Merakh's hips. "Watch yourself out there," more squinting. He gives Merakh a gentle shove. Off, you. Day starting out there.

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