Who

Cha'el K'vvan

What

Backdated Cha'el tricks K'vvan into going sailing with him. Frustration, heat, alcohol and just a touch of blood round out the day. Adult Content Warning

When

It is midmorning of the twenty-third day of the fifth month of the first turn of the 12th pass. (Two days prior to the hatching)

Where

Emerald Cove, Ista

OOC Date

 

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Emerald Cove

The deep clear waters of the Emerald Cove reflect the greens of the Istan Forest and bright blue sky. To the west and southwest is the forest and the Dolphin Hall. To the east, the wide open ocean. Small crafts and ships with an escort of a few dolphins can be seen from time to time as well as an occasional dragon high in the sky, heading toward the weyr. The water here is fairly calm and inviting especially on hot days.


Grumbling can be heard long before a particular greenrider is seen stepping out onto the wood of the pier. Stretched out and perfectly happy to be in the bright Istan sun somewhere behind him Nadeeth has gone straight to sleep, the light connection she keeps up between herself and K’vvan calm and perfectly content. “Don’t get too comfortable, I have zero interest in this taking any longer than it has.” K’vvan mutters this, knowing that the green will hear even if she doesn’t react. “The Seasprite?” He asks of another working on the dock, and is waved towards a particular ship. K’vvan eyes it with suspicion, but the man has no reason to lie, so he proceeds forward, and pauses again right at the edge, but doesn’t board. “Hello?” There is a distinct question mark at the end of the phrase.

Riding the gentle swells at anchor alongside the dock, the Seasprite, with her sails currently hanging at ease from the sturdy mast, is a sleek creation. Painted white with her name emblazoned along her bow in a bright cherry red, she’s not only built for speed and responsiveness but also for comfort going by the small cabin and the hatch with stairs leading down into her belly. Currently, the owner is nowhere to be seen though there is the sound of someone rummaging about below decks followed by a thump of something solid hitting wood and a low curse fit to make a sailor proud. “Down below,” rolls the thick Istan accent. If there is another dragon lurking nearby, he’s currently keeping himself well hidden by blending into the tumble of rocks further down along the pristine strip of beach.

K’vvan is rather suspicious by nature, but when one is in Ista, Istan accents are to be expected, so any familiarity in the tone is shrugged off. He casts a wary eye at the water gently rolling under the ship and steps up onto the plank leading from the dock onto the ship itself. He holds tightly to the side once down and into the boat proper, as if the ship might tip at any point in time and buck him off. “Should have sharding sent someone who likes boats.” No, K’vvan isn’t about to stop grumbling, as he hasn’t even quite figured out why he had to run this particular errand. “I’m here to pick up a delivery for Igen Weyr.” He calls out, not moving one step further onto the ship.

Another thump and another curse comes from below. “Ow!! Fafucksake!” And then the hatchway is being filled by a pair of broad and bared tanned shoulders and the grinning visage of one very familiar face – Igen’s WeyrseconD. “K’vv! You came.” Cha’el declares, blue eyes dancing with pleasure at seeing the greenrider on deck, a measure of relief felt for the first half of his plan having worked. But now he has to keep him there. “And no, you’re not here to pick up a delivery. You are the delivery.” The brownrider states coming all the way up the steps to reveal he’s wearing little but a pair of knee-length shorts and flip-flop style sandals. In one hand, he has a pair of fishing poles and in the other, a tackle box. “Welcome aboard the Seasprite.”

In contrast, K’vvan does not at all look like he is ready for a day on a ship. His stiff riding jacket is made for the cold of ::between::, and his tights are thick despite the heat. “What the f*ck are you doing here Cha’el?” Except it seems very clear what he’s doing as he examines the rider standing in nothing but shorts and sandals. A flush crosses his cheeks at Cha’el being half naked, and he looks away. “Trek said that I was to pick up a delivery. If there isn’t one,” and he turns back towards the dock, “Nadeeth and I are going home.”

Nadeeth’s reply comes as a way of sensations, sun warmed cotton spreading across his mind, an invitation to relax upon its soft lengths. There is deep longing there from her part to stay stretched out upon the sand, perhaps to pull out soft embroidery thread and work idly upon the tapestry of her mind, adding this small moment to the complicated record she keeps of their time together.

The very faintest glimmer of amusement ignites blue eyes when K’vvan blushes and looks away from the brownrider’s chosen style of ‘island’ attire. Setting the tackle box down and leaning the fishing rods against the side of the steering house, Cha’el rubs awkwardly at the back of his neck. “Uh, there wasn’t a delivery to be picked up.” He confesses. “I asked Trek to make out like there was when I got her to sign your leave form for today.” With a few strides, he plants himself between the greenrider and the plank leading back onto the docks. “Please don’t go.” He entreats, his baritone quietly encouraging. “Come sailing with me. We’ll do some fishing, drink a few beers and just kick back for a bit.”

Having kept a mental eye on proceedings, only now does Sikorth make his presence known, his large mottled bulk rising up from the rocks he’d been curled up between. « Play? » His mental tone a refreshing scatter of salty seaspray rather than the contained mists winding about ancient monoliths as he sends out a word not usually a part of his vocabulary.

The scowl on K’vvan’s face doesn’t twitch at all, deeping slightly as Cha’el admits Trek’s part of the plan to get him out here. Cha’el’s swift movement puts him between the exit, and heaven only knows that K’vvan isn’t about to resort to more drastic measures to get away. “I don’t go on boats, nor fish. I live in a sharding desert. And I have work to do.” The excuse falls a bit flat, as Cha’el knows perfectly well that his schedule had been cleared to do this “pick up.”

«Please stay?» Nadeeth stretches as Sikorth picks his way closer across the sand. As she moves sand scatters away from each footfall, the small green taking delight in the softness- so unlike the harder rocky beach of Igen. «Splash?» She sends to the brown, taking the last step towards him soas to twine herself around him gently, altogether happy with the thought of staying.

“… you’re f*king manipulators.” K’vvan realizes he has lost this battle when his eyes move to see Nadeeth and Sikorth together upon the beach. “She doesn’t want to go.” In other words, K’vvan isn’t leaving either or he’ll be risking upsetting Nadeeth without good reason.

With hand planted to lean hips, Cha’el fits K’vvan with a longsuffering look. “Fine. If you won’t admit it, then I will. I’m tired and I need a break. Being in Southern recently I realized how much I miss the sea and how much I’d like to spend some time away just you and me with no drills or sweeps or anything else like that to weigh us down.” This spoken as he turns, pulls up the plank and then moves down to the far end of the boat to unhook the mooring ropes.

Meanwhile, out on the beach Sikorth receives the lithe twine of delicate green about his bulky self with a deep rumble of satisfaction. « Splash. » He confirms and nudges her lightly with his nose, edging her toward the water’s edge where such games can be carried out.

Looking back over his shoulder to where their dragons are wound about each other and heading toward the gentle lap of waves, Cha’el heads to the mast and with a slip of knot releases the sails to the gentle breeze. In a rustle of billowing cloth they fill and the eager vessel leaps forward, guided out into the open water with a Seacrafter’s steady hand, her captain’s face lifted to the salty breeze, eyes briefly closing and chest swelling as he inhales a deep breath. “There’s a spare pair of shorts and a shirt below decks. Bentum’s about your size and won’t mind if you borrow them.” Comes the roll of his baritone.

“I don’t need to admit anything,” but the mutter is quiet, because the moment the sail snaps open K’vvan is reaching out and grabbing a hold of the side of the boat, unease sinking deep into his stomach. His voice hints at this as he points out a slight flaw in Cha’el’s plans. “You realize I am a horrible swimmer, right? The most Mayte was able to teach me before, uh, she had to stop showing me, was how to not die in the lake… At least until Nadeeth could get there. I never go out past the shallows.” The water is eyed as if it might actually reach up and grab him, the grip K’vvan has on the edge of the boat only increasing. He’ll just stand here and not move alright? Even if it does mean that the heat is slowly causing him to sweat in those thick clothes, and saltywater spray dots the leathers which are sure to leave spots.

Nadeeth needs very little urging to race out into the water, causing splashes in the shallows uncharacteristic of a dragon of her size. Each splash is carefully placed though, so as to cause the most water to land upon brown hide. K’vvan can hear her open laughter, the fuzzballs spinning about with energy as if hung upon by thin invisible threads.

Tacking away from the light breeze once they’re out into the bay of the cove, Cha’el weighs anchor, drops the sails and then joins K’vvan at the railing, a contented sigh in the manner of a man completely in his element exhaled. Quiet a few moments with his forearms dangling over the railing and morning sun soaking across the bared skin of his back, he turns a sidelong look onto the other man. “Are you mad at me for tricking you?”

In the shallows and lumbering his way deeper, Sikorth shakes himself like an enormous canine when the dainty green sends splashes of water over him, the rumble that lifts from his chest cast in amusement. Seaspray scatters upward, chasing after those fuzzballs of energy, glittering across the landscape of his mind while he puts that whipcord tail of his to good use. With a flick of tail tip, the big brown sends a cascade of water shimmering through the air aimed straight at Nadeeth.

"If I die from being on this thing, yes." It is a flippant reply, one that underscores K'vvan's discomfort. Throughout Cha'el's movement of the boat the green rider has stayed right there at the railing, not letting his death grip on the side go. And Hot. Finally, with the ship more or less no longer moving he begins the process of attempting to dislodge those fingers of his. Cannot take off that coat, and K'vvan's titchy dislike for sweaty clothing is starting to overcome that unease.

Rather than attempt to avoid the splash, Nadeeth jumps into the large one. They groove and play for a bit longer before the absence of the boat is noticed. «Where?» She inquires as a ribbon soaks itself in spray as it reaches for K'vvan.

That not having been an answer he’d expected, Cha’el stares dumbstruck at K’vvan for a few moments before a hearty laugh strips the silence away. “Die? Why would you…Oh. The swimming thing.” Humor dissipates and instead the overdressed greenrider is set with a fond look. “You’re not gonna die, K’vv. Although you might from heat exhaustion if you don’t get your kit off.” Cue the teasing waggle of brows. “And listen, if you want to learn how to swim properly, I’ll teach you. There’s no one but us here to see.” Just in case, K’vvan is feeling a little self-conscious about such a thing. “And maybe if we’re lucky, the shipfish will join us.”

« Beyond. » Sikorth replies lifting the large wedge of his head to indicate the boat anchored just beyond the breakers. Still plowing outward in that direction, his wings allowed to relax from their formal tuck against sides to drape along the surface of the water, the big brown pauses. « Mine will keep yours safe. » He reassures and taps Nadeeth on the rump with his tail – Play!

K’vvan eyes the water more than a little distrustfully as he finally pries his fingers from the railing. Sorry Cha’el, this is one phobia of the greenrider’s might not be able fixable. When the brownrider teases K’vvan transfers a faint scowl onto him. A few moments of silence before, “Fine- but I’m not going in unless Nadeeth is there.” Lifemate of over seven years = more trust then the weyrsecond there! Titchyness wins over not wanting to change and K’vvan begins to move very very slowly across the boat towards where Cha’el had indicated clothing could be found, as if the boat might tip at any second.

But for once, Nadeeth isn’t’ easily distracted by her favorite past time, curiosity stoked as Sikorth points out her lifemate upon the boat deeper in the water. His teasing flick of the tail draws her attention for just a moment as she snaps playfully at it. With a powerful beat of her wings she rises from the waves, dripping saltwater across Sikorth as she takes the short flight out to where the boat is anchored, viewing it from every side. «Why?» Her threads are busy already, recording this moment, ready to add whatever details the brown might provide.

A small smile twitches out, likely hidden within the neat frame of beard at K’vvan’s proviso. “Whatever works for you,” the older of the pair concedes. Watching as the greenrider carefully makes his way below decks to the small cabin below, Cha’el frowns. “K’vv…have you ever even been on a boat before?” It never having occurred to him that perhaps the other rider hadn’t.

Surprised when Nadeeth suddenly takes off toward the boat, Sikorth is slower to follow. In fact, springing into the air, he disappears beneath the crystalline waters, his large shape a sweeping shadow that scatters sea life in its path as he makes for the vessel just beyond. Mental contact however, is maintained and he summons up an image of a vessel ten times the size of the little one their riders currently inhabit. « It keeps them dry. » Or so would be his understanding of the need for a boat.

“Whatever would have given you that idea?” The sarcasm drifts out from where K’vvan has disappeared below. The rustle of clothing being taken off, folded and put to one side, and the sliding of drawers can be heard as K’vvan looks for the promised replacements. After a few moments the sounds pause, then resume, this time missing the soft sound of leather. It takes a bit longer for the clothing to be put on then it had for the taking off. When K’vvan reappears his outfit looks mildly out of place. Light brown shorts made for wider hips than his slender ones are held on tight by his own wide leather belt, the fabric bunched rather comically around his waist. His shirt, at least, looks proper. After divesting himself of riding leathers K’vvan had opted to keep his own covering in that regard, the white cut off sleeves cool enough for the warmer air. He has also opted for keeping his heavy boots on, rather than go barefoot. The sandals left below having been much too big for him. He pauses after ducking out of the hold and looks upwards. “I’ve only ever been on canoes and such, and not often. Back at Bitra.” He doesn’t look at Cha’el as he delivers that tidbit, more inclined to watch Nadeeth examine the boat. “You were a seacrafter though, right?” A wave of his hand indicates a time before.

She circles above, every facet of the ship of interest. She moves closer, brushing just feet above the mast. When satisfied that it does seem to be doing what Sikorth says that it does, she flips on her wing and slips back into the water, far beyond where Sikorth and the boat lay. There is delight as she discovers that this water is much deeper, deeper than even the lake at Igen, and downward she spirals to explore this new area.

“Crap.” Cha’el mutters under his breath when the younger man confirms his suspicions. All of his self-control is then put to the test in remaining above decks rather than following instinct and going down there to ‘help’ the greenrider out of his clothing, which would most assuredly not result in a change of attire. So it is that when K’vvan reappears, there’s probably a detectable smokiness to the brownrider’s gaze, morphing toward fond amusement as he gives the other man the slow boots to head once-over. Biting his lip, he glances upward as Nadeeth’s shadow briefly blots out the sun overhead. “The ‘Sprite’s a lot safer than a canoe. Sturdier too.” And as if to prove that theory, he hops up and down on the wooden deck, the plucky little vessel barely shifting from in response. “Aye,” Cha’el replies. “For ten turns. Did tours of duty on fishing vessels and merchant vessels ten times the size of this. But they weren’t nearly as much fun. You thirsty?” He asks moving over to a wooden box set just inside the wheelhouse.

Breaching the water like a giant creature of the depths, Sirkoth sends a wave of water that gently rocks the boat from side to side, bugling his enjoyment of the deep waters of home. « We hunt! » He declares and lifting up from the water joins Nadeeth, delighting in attempting to chase down the nimble shoals of fish that flee in their path.

As the boat rocks from Sikorth’s movements K’vvan reaches out to resume grabbing onto the most solid thing in sight, the edge of the doorway he had just come through. “Right. Sturdy.” There is a distinct lack of belief or conviction in K’vvan’s voice as he copies Cha’el’s word. If his thoughts had stirred alongside those of the brownrider when it comes to the aspect of changing there is zero show of it, nor does he seem to even notice the change in expression, overshadowed as it is by the rocking. “Only if you have something that will make being on this thing easier.” The sarcasm hasn’t dropped even a little as K’vvan’s eyes move to examine the boat he’s now quite stuck on.

All new experiences this is for both rider and dragon. K’vvan’s phobia had kept Nadeeth quite shorebound, and her natural curiosity at bay. Now though, with the brown to provide hints the small green follows suit and swims after the little fishes, snapping at them occasionally, though never actually getting close. There is no hunger in the hunting, just a desire to try this new thing where there is space for the little creatures to escape. She brushes by Sikorth in the attempt, allowing her tail to brush along his hide teasingly before going back to focusing on the pseudo hunt.

A growl of annoyance wrests from Cha’el’s throat when Sikorth proceeds to unsettle the boat’s restful nestle atop the ocean’s surface, causing the greenrider to grab at the doorway. “Fucker!” He grumbles shooting a glare after the departing brown, riding the slight pitch and yawl of the deck beneath his feet with ease. Back to K’vvan attention goes and with a crooked grin for his continued sarcasm, he flips the top open on the wooden box to reveal it to be well insulated within with several chunks of ice keeping a half dozen bottles of beer chilled. Taking up a pair by the neck in one hand, he drops the lid and holds out his free hand for the greenrider to take. “When you walk, don’t try to fight the movement. Relax your hips and your knees and let your body roll with it.” A glance down to the boots K’vvan still wears. “Its easier if you’re barefoot. You can feel the movement of the ocean through the decking better that way.” He adds.

Out in the deep blue, beneath the gentle swells of water, Sikorth having spied something comes to an abrupt halt. « Over there. Under the rock. » He tells Nadeeth showing her an image of a tentacles peeking out. « They make good eating. » He adds slowly approaching. « I’ll lure it out. You catch it. » And with that, his tail snakes out, its tip teasing and twitching just in front of the rock the eight-tentacled creature lurks beneath.

K’vvan eyes the distance between himself and the brownrider, and hesitates. “If I take these off and end up with splinters in my feet…” Cha’el might take it as a measure of the trust K’vvan does give him when he carefully kicks off the boots and shoves the socks inside. The boat has steadied and thus it isn’t quite as difficult for him to pick his way across slowly, slightly unnerved by the sway so unlike walking on solid land. The bottle is taken with one hand, and a rather gruff “thanks,” as he reaches out to grab hold of the side of the boat for support.

Nadeeth moves closer, attempting to match the image which Sikorth gives to the creature which crawls out from the rock, seeking after the large brown’s tail. She pounces, but slowed by the water, misses the creature as it darts back under the rock. « ?? » The question marks are of green silk, their curiosity peaking though.

That grumble about splinters in his feet actually finds Cha’el looking affronted. “I’ll have you know that I spent two months sanding and oiling the deck before she even left the drydocks. Its as smooth as a baby’s backside,” he counters, toeing a sandaled foot over the gleaming wooden surface beneath their feet. But just in case, K’vvan doesn’t believe him, he kicks off his sandals alongside the greenrider’s boots and ambles over to where a curvature of raised planking has been built in along the stern of the boat. Dropping into an indolent sprawl with long legs spread out before him, the former seacrafter cracks the lid of the beer and lifting it to his lips swallows several thirst quenching mouthfuls. Swiping his hand across the back of his mouth, he sets his sailing companion with a long look. “So…” pause, continue, “I’m going to be spending a bit of time down in Southern in a few months time.” He begins and lifts a careful look to the greenrider.

The rumble of amusement that lifts from Sikorth when she misses sends a cloud of silvery bubbles to the water’s surface. « Creeper. Very fast. Very shy. » He tells her, recalling an image from his rider’s mind of the oddly shaped creature. The need to breathe waters his thoughts and Sikorth shoots toward the surface. « We will try again. » He reassures.

K’vvan follows, his pace much less steady to sit across from Cha’el, not quite close enough to touch. The announcement from Cha’el has K’vvan raising an eyebrow. “Not quite sure why that is any of my business to know? But since I have nothing else to do…” He opens the bottle and lifts it to his lips making a small face at the sour taste (common, the guy drinks pink wine for goodness sake), “Why?”

Nadeeth is just as amused, and follow’s Sikorth up to the top. Once there she does not move downwards again, but rests instead, spreading her wings along the top of the rippling water to steady herself. « This is your home? » Ribbons show the contrast sharply between the watery oasis and the desert- rough dark brown, versus silky blue.

Its probably just as well K’vvan maintains a small amount of physical distance for given the tranquility of the setting and that Cha’el is probably more relaxed than he has been in a long time, he probably can’t be trusted to keep his hands to himself. “I didn’t manage to get down to Corks and Works,” he states, noting the other rider’s grimace of distaste for the beer. “Outta rum too.” That in itself a travesty. Slugging back another couple of swigs of the Istan ale for Bitran courage, the brownrider is a quiet for a few moments in the wake of the questions put to him. “I uh, I went down there to drop something off for my cousin’s weyrmate,” yes, a package of garish Hawaiin style shirts for Q’fex, deal with it Br’er. “And a gold went up. Sikorth chased.” Short stilted sentences with his gaze latched to the bottle in his hand. “And…he caught.” There Cha’el chances a look at K’vvan, brawny frame set with tension.

« This was my home. » Sikorth corrects sucking in a mawful of water and spewing it upward in a fountain in a show of idle play he’s not usually given to. « That, » the image of the stark beauty of Igen indicated as monoliths rise up from its center, « is home now. » Drifting closer to where Nadeeth floats, the brown runs a light brush of his muzzle along her slender neck. « You are there. » A delicate shoot of green is shown rising up at the center of those circled stones.

K’vvan looks down at his drink then back up to Cha’el, bewildered a bit by the slight twinge that settles into his stomach at Cha’el’s pronouncement. He licks his lips slightly, pondering that it before he can speak. When no clear answer comes he’ll force himself to shrug and place out a nonchalant face on and lean back slightly against the railing of the boat, though he remains very careful to not chance even accidentally falling into the water below. “Congratulations?” He hazards the word with a slight uplift of his eyebrow. “Going to screw with Whirlwind if you’re not there when Thread falls.” It comes out sounding slightly caustic, and K’vvan lifts the drink to his lips again. “W’rin already figured out what he’ll do?”

The image is woven carefully, stone with small green shoot etched deeply into the fabric of Nadeeth’s memory. Hints of rose-tinge creep their way down Nadeeth’s green threads, pleasure in the compliment paid to her. « I am glad. »

In the silence that stretches out, tension winds tighter about Cha’el, brows creasing and then dropping into a slight frown when K’vvan appears to take it in his stride. Confusion creeps in; woven from the prickly statement Nadeeth had slung at him not all that long ago along with how the greenrider had reacted when he’d misunderstood the bra that had fallen from his pocket weighed now against the nonchalant air coming from him. Blue eyes drop to fingers picking at the label wrapped about the beer bottle’s middle. “I’ll still fly with Whirlwind,” the Weyrsecond states determinedly. “We’ll only be a jump Between away.” A shake of dark head and shrug of a bared shoulder answers the question of what the Weyrleader plans to do as silence rubberbands between the pair of them. “She barfed on me if it helps any.” Stated quietly with a wry twitch of bearded features. Shared only because he knows it’ll stay between the two of them.

Further away, Sikorth’s mental mists peppered with the salty tang of sea air lift upward, seeking to twine about rose-tinted threads, the big brown content to bob and sway in time to the eternal ebb and flow of the ocean with the pretty little green at his side.

“Heh.” K’vvan’s reply is barely more than an indistinct grunt as he puts his attention on the drink in his hand. In no way has the appeal of it increased, but drinking it is something for him to do while his mind hammers away at why the outcome of a goldflight might bother him. “Still make drills tough. Someone going to handle your job in the in-between?” Finally does he look up, seeking Cha’el’s gaze, and runs a hand through his hair. A rather irrational thought occurs to him, that those blue eyes look a whole lot like the sea beyond at the moment. The triviality of the thought annoys him, so he looks away.

Slowly but surely, wariness builds within Cha’el for K’vvan’s continued display of seeming indifference to the topic under discussion, pressing against the walls of his lungs until breathing becomes a concentrated effort. “Aye.” Quietly given and washed away with another slug of beer. The question of his job and how things will be handled if Hannah insists on his continual presence while the eggs harden is swept aside for the time being. “K’vv,” the brownrider shifts when his companion glances away, trying to recapture his gaze. “Talk to me. Tell me what you’re thinking.” Urged in a low voice as he pulls his legs back toward himself and leans forward, brawny frame gathered in a tight bunch of muscled tension.

“I’ve no thoughts.” K’vvan’s tone is a bit short though, and he brings the beer to his lips again and drains the last of it with a slight grimace. Gross, but there is a distinct lack of other things to drink at the moment. “Not sure why you are thinking it would matter.” He manages to keep his expression flat, even as he punches back a bit at that pit in his stomach. Outwards he casts his eyes into the water, towards where the brown and green float upon the water. “Nadeeth is enjoying herself.” There, a distinct change in topic. “What is that eight legged thing Sikorth tried to get her to catch?”

The pressure that had built in his chest drops to his gut like a stone at K’vvan’s reply causing Cha’el to look away so that their impact is shielded from view as he gets to his feet. Draining the last of the beer he holds out his hand for the other rider’s empty bottle and if handed over will move back to where the wooden cooler box is and deposit them within. All without a word spoken and features carefully schooled to bland indifference. Stepping back out of the wheelhouse with a small bucket in hand, the brownrider casts a look out to where their dragons float atop the water, the morning sunlight glistening off of damp hide. “Rock creeper,” Cha’el breaks his silence to reply of the Pernese equivalent of an octopus. “Sikorth likes how they taste.” Setting the bucket down near the railing, he goes back for a fishing rod. “You know how to fish?” Asked in a tone devoid of the anticipation that had lingered there earlier.

The abrupt change in mood puzzles K'vvan, and he shifts in his seat after handing over the empty bottle, eyes following Cha'el as he moves. The faint frown lingers, but K'vvan is not sure what to do, so he responds to the words rather than the mood. "I've only watched others fish." He pushes himself to his feet, unsteady as the boat rocks a bit in the breeze. A moment, and K'vvan finally asks, "Cha'el…. Why am I here?" Just honest bewilderment there in his tone, K'vvan can honestly not imagine why someone would volunteer to spend extra time with him. "I'm… Confused."

«Mine is an idiot. » Nadeeth's observation, kept strictly to the brown at her side comes out of the blue, and heralded by a flash of silver needle. Soft spoken as she typically is, this flash of almost anger comes out of the blue. « He ruins this and we will be alone again. » Knots appear along the lengths of her thread, preventing her tapestry from growing any larger. She dives abruptly under the surface of the water, skittering off some of her agitation with physical movement.

Glancing up at K’vvan silhouetted by the sun at his back, Cha’el is silent yet longer still. “I’m not sure you really want the answer to that.” Wry and self-deprecating the quiet lilt of his baritone. Shaking his head and dropping his gaze, he stares at the contents of the bait bucket and then risks it all and tips his metaphorical hand so that a glimpse of the cards kept close to his chest is revealed.

“You’re here because I want you here. Because I wanted to see if maybe…” brows tip toward one another but he grits his teeth and forces himself to continue. “There might be a chance of something more than just….Fuck.” Fear pulls the curse and clamps lips tightly shut. “It doesn’t matter why. I thought you might like a day out is all.”

« As is mine. » Comes Sikorth’s terse reply, his head swinging sharply in the direction of the small vessel bobbing at anchor. « His fear of betrayal will leave him old and lonely. » Notation made through the acrid scent of used engine oil, the grey smoke beaten into a tattered swirl by the fast chop-chop of rotor blades. When Nadeeth dives, the brown doesn’t follow her, instead he remains above the water, attention latched sharply to the pair on the boat.

« Tell him! » The brown barks at his rider, causing the brawny man to physically twitch under the sharp demand.

*» Fuck off! « The wary growl of animal believing itself soon to be kicked as soon as it’s down.

Cha’el’s words are not computing. K’vvan’s brow furrows as he attempts to figure out the rest of the sentence which the brownrider had so abruptly cut off. He’s starting to have an inkling of what it could be, but his own emotional instability keeps him from really understanding. “You thought I’d like being manip…”

« Stop! » Nadeeth’s needle sharp voice pricks out into his mind and K’vvan’s words come to a stumbling pause. Almost never does her needle pricks were turn towards him and the confusion on his face is compounded by this sudden interruption from a voice that is silky soft. Knowing she has his attention, Nadeeth continues. Rather than more words, she’ll poke up a picture, of a young vintner lass and he on a beach. It is rather fuzzy on the details but strong on emotion. « He does that. »

K’vvan has to puzzle a bit more though the emotions behind the image, his eyes having moved down to focus on the contents of that bucket while he rolls a rather novel idea around in his head. He is going to need a bit more time to parse it all out, so he doesn’t say anything else at the moment, and instead reaches out to the pole, laying his hand just above Cha’el’s and looking upwards at the taller man. “Fishing in the ocean isn’t like fishing in a lake I’m going to assume?” Not that he’d ever done much of the earlier, the glaring lacks in K’vvan’s childhood are most apparent when he attempts to ‘relax.’

Aware that he’s beating around the proverbial bush, Cha’el shoots the other rider a tight look when he starts utter the one word that would have been sure to start an all out fight. When it’s snapped off, he jerks his attention away, mouth pressed into a flat line.

« Pussy! » Comes the taunting hiss from Sikorth.

“I’m not being a…” The brownrider begins to growl aloud and then comes to an abrupt halt when K’vvan wraps a hand around the fishing rod. “Huh?” Frantically his mind shifts gears, leaving him blinking stupidly at the younger man for a couple of seconds. “Uh no.” Excuse the big dumb wherry, he’s busy trying to pull his head out of his ass. “Its better. Bigger fish, more of a challenge to fight them back to the boat.” He tells his companion recovering his mental footing a little. “And you have this,” the reel clamped to the side of the sturdy pole tapped, “to help you bring it in.”

Beyond, a rumble of sound drifts across the ocean air that sounds suspiciously like draconic laughter as Sikorth sweeps upward in a spray of water and then dives deep into the depths, seeking out the lithe form of the dainty green that had taken off earlier. « They are like young hatchlings. » He sends to Nadeeth. « Wobbly on their legs and sticky with confusion. »

“You’re going to have to show me how.” K’vvan’s voice is a bit flat, and wary, and he doesn’t take his hand off the pole. “Though you probably could have figured that.” He’s bumbling for the right word to attempt to fix this without actually facing what it is that has started to grow in the back of his head. A quiet rustle of silk, a mental sigh from Nadeeth, curls in the back of his mind. “And will I have to touch that?” His free hand gestures towards the bait bucket where something is wiggling.

« Mine is a hatchling. In this. » The simple innocence of silk is complicated now as Nadeeth speaks of matters of the heart. « He does not do it purposefully. » There is an attempt to dampen the sharpness of her mental touch, which is only slightly successful. Away she has swam in the warm waters, cooling the annoyance that K’vv’s attempts at matters of the heart create. She may not remember those years before Igen and friends, but there is a faint unease that follows always when K’vvan pushes away that perhaps, maybe, it could all end.

Releasing the fishing rod into K’vvan’s care, the older of the pair sets him with a careful look, even going so far as to chance the idea of a smile. Baby steps. “Here, take this one,” Cha’el offers, tilting the rod already baited up toward the other rider. If it’s taken he’ll crouch and quickly set about baiting up the other rod, attention studiously cast downward painfully aware of the metaphorical elephant now lurking on board. “Do you regret it?” He asks quietly and comes to his feet having bound the wriggling fish no bigger than his palm to the hook so as to make escape futile. “That night.” His question qualified as he references the one night of shared intimacy that exists thus far between them, gaze carefully shielded from the inner turmoil that threatens to expose him.

« Mine should know better and yet he falls over his own feet. » Sikorth snorts, sifting through the complicated silk threads of Nadeeth’s observation as he slowly follows in her wake, idly snapping at fish that tickle along his underbelly. « Yours makes him nervous. » For a reason the dragon cannot begin to fathom.

K’vvan grasps the fishing rod tightly, releasing his hold on the edge of the ship to steady it with both hands as Cha’el releases it. As the bait swings towards him he ducks back just slightly, “You know, Nadeeth hates things that wiggle like this.” Maybe the source of his obsessive cleanliness? When Cha’el kneels K’vvan looks downward, the top of the brownrider’s head a safe place to look at the moment. When he replies, his voice is also quiet. “No. I don’t regret it.” He opens his mouth to add more, then closse it, biting on his lip just slightly as he holds back any other words.

« He will need to be blunt.» This is Nadeeth’s final comment on the situation as she rises upwards to the surface, now fairly far away from the boat. Silk threads straighten themselves out, knots releasing their tight grip on silk. « Tell me more? » The ocean is bright bold ribbons, swirling.

Surprise lifts a flicker of amusement at Nadeeth’s dislike of things that wriggle and Cha’el might have commented on it if not for the reply that falls quietly from K’vvan. Drawn back to his full height, feet braced apart to more easily ride the gently pitch and roll of the boat at anchor, silence weaves about his brawny frame and then he lifts a hand and traces a finger down the smooth plane of the greenrider’s jaw. “K’vv. I’ve seen you at your worst.” He notes gently. “And I’m still here. I still want to be here.” At a mental kick in the butt from Sikorth a narrowed look is jerked sideways to the open ocean and then flickers back to the slighter man. “I want…you. To be with you. However and whatever that means.” And finally there it is, naked vulnerability in that admission. The all or nothing risk as he lays his hand of cards face up on the table.

« He tries. » Approval warms the sea-speckled mists of Sikorth’s mind when finally his rider takes the plunge. The bolstering support of those immovable monoliths is carefully withdrawn, focus turned instead to the dainty lady he lazily trails behind. « Shipfish. » An image is hung for her between the circle of stones of large grey creatures with warm intelligent eyes and high chittering voices, cavorting and flipping in the sea. « They speak with us in the way of our riders. »

K’vvan closes his eyes at the soft touch on his face, biting his lip before he begins to speak. “That was… one night. And I…” K’vvan’s hands tighten around the wood of the pole, sending the not-so-wiggly bait shaking in the air above him. “Cha’el, I don’t know if.. when…” His eyes open and look upwards into the blueness. Would he understand what K’vvan cannot say? A small step forward is the only answer that K’vvan can give.

If Cha’el were aware of anything but the younger man standing before him he might have ducked the bait that jiggles in the air above them. But he’s not and jerks his head to one side when it slaps him upside the ear. Even then its not enough to draw his focus away, brows dipping as he tries to parse what K’vvan is trying to say. “Do you want me to…” leave? The word dies the moment the greenrider steps closer. “K’vv, I need to know if I’m just chasing my own tail here or if…dammit.” Frustration peaks, a breath inhaled and released in a sharp exhale. “Look, I don’t care about the sex.” Well he does. Very, very much so but right now there are bigger things at play. “I care about you. A lot.” Sikorth grunts and sends a blast of mental machine gunfire that ricochets around in the brownrider’s head with dizzying effect. “Okay…more than care about you.” Happy Sikorth? “So I guess what I want to know is…do I even have a chance?”

K’vvan jerks back the pole when Cha’el flinches away from the bait. That abrupt movement is enough to unsteady him on the swaying boat and he stumbles backwards. The pole drops to clatter upon the smooth wood of the deck while he attempts to steady himself. One arm flings out to attempt to grab the edge of the boat again, but his fingers miss it just by centimeters. Under him the boat sways making it difficult for K’vvan regain his outward balance, even as inwardly he spins. The connection to Nadeeth’s silk ribbons are tenuous at best, just the faintest softness in the back of his mind. He is in no danger of falling, but needing to pay attention to said skill of standing robs him of any answer for just the moment.

Cha’el is at first a little slow on the uptake when the other man stumbles backward. But when he realizes that K’vvan possibly in danger of losing his footing, he lunges forward, snapping a hand out to grab at whatever part of the slighter man he can to keep him on his feet, his rod bearing hand swinging out to the side. “I didn’t mean for you to take me quite so literally.” His baritone gruff with what is probably a poor attempt at humor.

"Heh." Cha'el's arm wraps around K'vvan's waist, With that extra support K'vvan is able to grab onto the side of the boat regaining his balance. Bit with outwards balance returns the need to focus on the internal issues. He licks his lip, and takes a deep breath before looking upwards at Cha'el. "I'm not going to ask you to let go." Perhaps not the explicit answer the brown rider had wanted… But it is the best he can do.

Once K’vvan has his balance, Cha’el immediately starts to pull his arm away only to still at the younger man’s words. Slowly he starts to get a sense of something, reflected in the smile that begins to grow. “Just as well,” he quietly tells the greenrider, reclaiming the wrap of his arm about his waist, “because I don’t want to.” Instincts rise to stake further claim and are battled back down again. “So you want to try this fishing thing?” And somehow, he manages to make that sound more seductive than he’d meant to.

“I feel like you already started?” It’s a slightly flippant answer, as a very very very small smile breaks through the frown and grump. K’vvan makes no move towards the pole now laying upon the boat, caught up instead in the feel of Cha’el’s arm around his waist. He releases the side of the boat, but doesn’t step backwards. “I don’t know anything, really, about fishing.” Now he’s just repeating himself. The ribbons, curled in the back of his mind tickle once, then settle down again satisfied that at least, for now, K’vvan isn’t going to screw anything up.

A laugh with a husky set parts Cha’el’s lips at the humored comment made, eyes entirely too devilish for anyone’s good. That tiny glimmer of a smile that appears, setting a buoyancy to spirits that had been in danger of flagging earlier. “Well first,” he begins and tilts sideways to lean his rod against the side of the boat, “you have to have the right kind of bait.” Blue eyes flicker with roguish humor. “And then it’s all about making it appear as attractive as possible to the unsuspecting fish swimming about down there minding his own business. Just one nibble, that’s all that’s needed and then BLAM,” his arm tightens about K’vvan and pulls him in a touch closer, “you strike your rod and hope to Faranth its not going to wiggle off the hook while you carefully reel it in.” They are still talking about fishing aren’t they?

Right. Fish. K’vvan allows himself to be pulled forward the last piece of space, and now stands within just a hair's breath of the brownrider. “As a former sea crafter you would have plenty of experience in this?” Yes, are they talking about fishing any more? Yet, there aren’t any poles in hand, and that bucket of wiggling bait is utterly ignored. “What happens when you managed to get the fish all the way to you?”

With his other hand now freed, K’vvan will find himself caught in the loose circle of both arms and fixed with an intent look that smolders along the edges. “Turns worth,” Cha’el assures in a lazy drawl. And then what to do with said ‘fish’. “You carefully scoop it from the water with a net, gently ease the hook from its mouth and put it in a bucket of water to keep it fresh until you’re ready to eat it.” By this time, his chin has dropped toward his chest, so that the last words are spoken on a shared breath of air.

The feeling of being encircled and held triggers his panic at being enclosed, and he has to push it back. Tension causes his shoulders to tighten and a slight tremble, completely unrelated to the gentle sway of the boat underfoot to begin. This is something he wants, has wanted, probably will continue to want. The last word hangs between them for that moment of inner struggle. Taking the chance he brushes his lips against Cha’el’s, just the smallest of tastes and pulls back again.

The tension that rifles through K’vvan isn’t hard to miss and the brownrider almost draws away until he realizes that the other rider can easily escape the loose wrap of his arms if he wishes to. That he continues to stay of his own volition speaks volumes, that hesitant brush of lips that he dares, fanning the spark of hope to a steady flame. “K’vvan.” Murmured in a low susurration of breath just seconds before Cha’el chases after those retreating lips, claiming them in a kiss that starts out slow and builds in intensity despite his attempts to keep a lid on things.

K’vvan is winning his inner battle, but only by the smallest of margins. Push back must come sooner rather than later as breath is stolen by the lips upon his. As the tension builds and finally spills over K’vvan’s breaking point he steps one shaky step backwards and away from the brownrider. Not far enough that Cha’el’s arms fall away from him, but enough to put distance between their lips. Light tenor voice is rough as he speaks. “Fishing?” Half a plea, half request.

Shaken and stirred, eyes aglow with the fire that burns within, Cha’el gives the younger man the small gap of space he gains for himself. “Fishing,” he confirms in a thrumming purr, the smile that curves about his mouth a sensual thing lightly tipped with warm humor. With a supreme effort of will he drops his arms with a lingering caress of palms to lean flanks and then bending takes up the rod K’vvan had dropped and holds it out to him while reaching for his with his other hand. “Want another beer?” Suddenly parched himself.

Reaching out Kvvan’s hand brushes Cha’el’s as he takes the rod from him and draws it away. Outside of that embrace uncertainty settles back in, and K’vvan turns his gaze away from the brownrider, back out into the ocean. “Uh, sure.” The more than a little battered bit of bait dangles close to his head and he uses this as an excuse to step another pace away from the brownrider, holding the wood awkwardly in his hand. For its part, the bait wriggles gently then stops again- not quite yet devoid of life. “Before it gets cold and completely undrinkable.”

Where K’vvan turns his attention out to the rippling ocean beyond, Cha’el sets his back to the greenrider, studying his profile while his gaze is elsewhere. Something tweaks at the back of his mind when the other man steps away but he holds it to himself. Creating further distance by fetching up another two bottles of ale from the wooden cooler box, he hands one to K’vvan and sets the other at his feet. “Right, so the first thing you want to do is cast your line out into the sea as far as you can. Release the brake on the reel,” demonstrated, “and then keeping a tension on the line with your finger, tip the rod behind you swing it forward letting the line go with your finger so that it feeds out with the pull of the bait and sinker.” That said, Cha’el puts action to words and with a practiced flick of wrists and ripple of muscle as his upper torso sways back and then forward, sends his line streaking out across the water to land with a faint plop a fair distance out. “And now you wait.” Simple says the grin he wears.

K’vvan takes the bottle and sets it to one side, his attention slightly diverted from the lesson Cha’el gives by the ripple of muscles across his chest as he casts out the line into the water. Shaking his head he snaps himself back to the moment and the lesson being given. He shifts himself to stand as Cha’el does, slightly off parallel to the side of the boat and attempts to cast of… only to get the hook caught in the slightly too big pants. “S*it,” he mutters, twisting to see if he can unlodge the hook.

His line cast out into the deep blue, Cha’el rests the butt of rod against his upper thigh and turns to watch K’vvan attempt the same. Lips tilted about an encouraging smile quickly part in astonishment when the greenrider somehow manages to hook himself up and then a guffaw of laughter breaks free, the twisting and turning coming from the novice fisherman merely adding to the entertainment. “Seems like you landed the catch of the day,” the brownrider remarks through a series of chuckles that he doesn’t seem to be making much effort to suppress. “Here hold this,” his own rod handed over to K’vvan and then he crouches behind the slighter man. “And try not to move or you’ll wind up with it in your ass.”

K’vvan pauses in his twisting to send a dirty look at the brownrider. “I didn’t f*king mean to.” He snaps this with a measure of real irritation, only slightly distracted from it with the view of Cha’el’s chest again. When the pole is shoved at him he takes it warily, now holding two of the large awkward sticks. Stillness claims him as Cha’el moves behind him- still one of those twitchy points. Conversation. Right. “Uh, what do I do if this thing twitches?” He shakes Cha’el’s pole just slightly. The movement causes the hook in his thigh to dig in just a little bit and K’vvan winces.

“Neither did I.” Cha’el retorts fitting the fidgety greenrider with a roguish smirk. “These things, they happen.” Whether getting caught up on a hook or hooked in an entirely different manner is left for the other rider to divine for himself. Though perhaps the smothered snicker-snort of amusement when he asks about what to do with twitchy things might cement the intention of the brownrider’s comment. Crouched before K’vvan at more or less crotch level, it takes several levels of self-control to concentrate on the matter of the hook snagged in fabric at the juncture of thigh rather than the gutterdive his mind has just taken. “Pull back hard once and then start winding the handle on the reel. Smooth and slow, pausing every few seconds to calm the fish if it starts fighting too hard.” He advises, taking hold of K’vvan’s shorts in one hand while wiggling the hook back and forth with the other. “Fuck! You really got it in here good. You’re gonna have to take ‘em off.”

Any more grumbling K'vvan does is kept well under his breath as he tightens his grip on the pole and hopes that no fish decide that right now is going to be a good time to bite. Which, because Murphy came to this party long ago, means that the pole in K'vvan's hands chooses just this moment to jerk, causing K'vvan to stumble right up to the edge of the railing with it. “What the f*ck?! S*it!” the two expletives drop from his lips the second as the hook actually drives right into the flesh of his thigh with the sudden movement.

With the barb of the hook well and truly embedded and having lowered his head right down to said crotch so as to bite the line off and feed the hook all the way through to free it, Cha’el suddenly finds himself in a position he could never have anticipated when K’vv stumbles forward and he’s knocked onto his ass. “Mmmrffff!!” Face meet crotch. FREEZE!! Immediately the hook is forgotten and hands fly to slim hips, his heart rate jackknifes and certain parts of his anatomy weigh in with a hefty dose of interest. Hands curl in tighter, bunching fabric into large fists. Unable to find it within himself to shove K’vvan away, he scrambles backward sucking in a sharp breath only to slam the back of his head into the side of the boat. “Fuck!!”

Sorry Cha'el, K'vvan has other things than the awkward position that the brown rider finds himself on his mind. Thankfully the belt holds those oversized shorts up, or Cha'el might get a more explicit look. The second pole, hook now tightly emended in K'vvan's sink is dropped onto the deck so K'vvan can focus on the pole tugging in with all his attention. "It is sharding pulling! " Cha'el's hands right on his hip help keep him steady and the fear of being pulled over into the water below. Inexperience makes him forget Cha'el's instructions and as quickly as it had begun it stops, the line going still and limp. The feeling of blood trickling down his leg is ignored as he looks downward at the brownrider, stupefied.

Cha’el wouldn’t mind an explicit look, truth be told. Although now might be a rather inopportune time for such lusty thoughts but hey, he just got a face full of crotch! “K’vv! Keep STILL faffuckssake!” The brownrider growls and then realizing that above him K’vvan is still valiantly trying to bring the fish home, he tilts his head back and squints upward. “Didja get it?” Yup, he’s still got those slim hips tightly clamped in his paws.

"What are you doing" K'vvan ignores the now still pole, the trickle of blood and.basiclly anything other than the brown rider and his hands on his hips. A small shake if his head brings him smartly back to reality from the dive it had just taken. "No, it, uh. ."

“Not what I’d like to be doing,” Cha’el grumble-growls into his beard and slowly forces his hands to relax, finally releasing that death grip he’d had on K’vvan’s hips and eyes the slow trickle of blood. “Did it go in?” Innocent enough question unless you’re crammed up against the side of a boat with a hot young thing’s crotch just inches away from your face.

K’vvan doubletakes on the mumble, “what?!” It’s almost a yelp, highpitched and everything. “F*ck it Cha’el!” But no, he doesn’t move backwards, he instead just stares at Cha’el. Wait, there was a second question there. His eyes flick downwards to blood now peeking out from under the loose short bottoms. “No, I just like bleeding for no sharding reason. And I’m not taking off my pants!”

All K’vvan earns himself for that yelp is a narrowed look but no apology is forthcoming. Probably if Cha’el just let go of those hips he’d be able to find himself some breathing room. Instead his hands stay locked in place, jaw working tightly. “Oh for fuck’s sake! I’m not gonna jump you!!” The brownrider growls. He’d like to. Oh he’d veeery much like to BUT! “I can’t get the fucking thing out if you’ve still your pants on.”

“Cha’el. I am not taking my pants off.” K’vvan shifts, and Cha’el’s hands shift from hips onto a much more padded part of K’vvan’s body and he just freezes. “Just cut the damn string already!”

Knowing the extent of possible infection if a hook laced with fish bits is left in place for too long, Cha’el comes to a decision that K’vvan is not going to like. Cut the string. Yeah he’ll cut something alright! Without warning hands jack upward, grab a hold of the belt holding those overly large shorts into place and faster than K’vvan can blink he’s unbuckled it and the shorts fall to the decking with a muted thunk of metal padded by fabric. And…GULP! The dude doesn’t wear undershorts! Now Cha’el is crammed up against the side of the boat at EXPOSED crotch level. “Shit.”

“No!” But Cha’el is too fast for K’vvan and his pants hit the deck leaving him suddenly very exposed. He’ll attempt to back up, to get away, but that is very hard to do with folds of cloth around so rather then the fast BACK UP K’vvan had planned it ends up being a very inelegant shuffle backwards that ends with K’vvan tripping over that extra pole and falling butt first onto the deck. “CHA’EL.” It gets yelled for lack of anything better to say.

“K’vv, wait..” Cha’el reaches to grab a hold of a slim ankle in a bid to forestall the greenrider’s attempted retreat and probably aids in his butt to deck PLONK!! “K’vvan!!” Frustration of several different varieties come crashing together in that warning growl. “Keep the fuck still, you prickly little bastard! I’m trying to HELP you!” Without waiting to see if K’vvan listens or tries yet again to scramble away again, Cha’el scoots forward clamps a hand to his thigh just above the hook and VERY close to those exposed bits. The metal shaft of the hook is firmly gripped between thumb and forefinger and the brownrider glances upward. “Its gonna hurt like a bitch. I can’t pull it back; the barb will tear a chunk out of you. I gotta push it all the way through. Ready?”

After shaking off some of the pain of the fall K'vvan isn't able to pull himself together before Cha'el grabs his thigh in that tight grip. It's enough to cause the twitchy greenrider to utterly freeze, every muscle tensing throughout his body. “Just do it.” His teeth are clenched together as ice cools abruptly any hint of heat that had begun to build throughout the day.

Whether Cha’el is aware that any forward progress made this day has effectively been frozen by the need to be absolutely sure K’vvan keeps still, doesn’t reflect on the tight set of bearded features. “On three, aye? One…two…” Three doesn’t exist for with a quick press of fingers the hook is jabbed forward to pierce swiftly through skin and flesh, slithering free on the other side in a slick of blood. Quickly ducking his head the line is bitten through and the tail slid through. Grabbing the shorts K’vvan had been wearing, Cha’el presses them against the wound and reaches for his hand. “Here, press on it like this, I’m going to get some ice.” His manner and tone calm and efficiently neutral as turns of dealing with just such injuries (and worse) aboard ship kick into place.

K’vvan was waiting for three. He really was, and when it comes out before the ‘three’ K’vvan can be forgiven the hiss that breaks out from between clenched teeth. “f*cckkk/.” He’ll obey though, and press that bundle of cloth to his legs. “Shard it Cha’el, if you wanted my pants off you needed to say that earlier. Bring back some pants!” He’ll attempt at humor when all he really wants to do is swear. At least Cha’el isn’t so sharding close any more?

Waiting for three is always a bad idea, the reaction his not having done so elicits entirely expected. Flashing an amused look over his shoulder to K’vvan for the comment about his pants the brownrider first disappears down into the little cabin below decks and then when he reappears with a towel slung over his shoulder, heads for the wooden cooler box. What remains of the ice is dumped into the towel, bundled up and brought over to the other man. “If you wanted me to feel you up all you had to do was say so.” He counters with a teasing twist of mouth. “Sticking yourself with a hook was rather a drastic way of getting there. Here, hold this on it for a bit it’ll help stem the bleeding and soothe some of the throbbing.” And no, he doesn’t appear to another pair of pants with him. Ha!

While Cha'el is gone K’vvan has sat himself up, and given the pole a rather petulant kick, sending it clattering another foot away from him. Stupid thing. He applies pressure to the gash in his leg, the blood seeping into the cloth, though there is little danger of it actually being a serious injury. “F*ck you.” He spits this out, but it is lacking any sense of heat behind it. “And you sharding do this for fun?”

“I’d rather do you,” Cha’el quips back with not a flicker of shame as he settles himself down next to K’vvan, “but I’ll take sailing or fishing,” or both, “as a close second.” Cue the unapologetic grin. “When that ice has melted you can let the scratch,” scratch, ha! “breathe for a bit.” Drawing his knees up and loosely wrapping them with his arms, he gives K’vvan a light nudge with his shoulder. “So what do you do for fun then?”

K'vvan goes slightly red as Cha'el settles in so near to him. He switches the shorts with the towel and ice, awkwardly spreading the pants over his hips, hiding from view the particular of his anatomy. “You're insane.” Flatly delivered as he twitches the cloth once more into place. As for the question… K'vvan shrugs. “I drink.” His other diversions are left unspoken.

Fondly amused by K’vvan’s need to cover up, instead of averting his gaze to afford the younger man a dash of privacy, eyes the color of the sea merely track the movements of his hand before slowly raking upward. “So I’ve been told,” a low purr as Cha’el’s gaze latches to deep green. “But what’s life without a bit of insanity to keep it interesting, eh?” Lips, as they form the words, ‘I drink’ are given wolfish attention. “That’s not a pastime.” The brownrider chides. “Its what you do while you’re doing something else.”

K'vvan will shift just slightly under that probing gaze, one hand flicking at the cloth again to make sure it stays in place. For a moment, when Cha'el's eyes fix on his his K'vvan loses the thread of the rather tenuous conversation that they have begun. He licks his lips, bringing moisture back to them and fumbles in his brain for where he was going next. “Uh, well. I take care of Nadeeth? Um. Punch a bag?” Or walls. K'vvan isn't picky.

Should the day ever arrive where K’vvan turns the tables on him, Cha’el will likely find himself in a whole world of trouble but for now, as the more experienced of the two, he plies the benefits of having the upper hand. A soft cluck of tongue is followed by a husky chuckle of amusement. “There are far better ways to spend pent up frustration and energy.” He lets the younger man stew on that for a bit, blue eyes aglow with the intended innuendo and then he idly flicks a hand toward one of the fishing rods. “You want to try again? I’ll cast for you.”

Yep. K'vvan's face glows a sudden red, catching the innuendo. Nope, he's not about to look over at those blue eyes, afraid of losing himself in them again. Instead, focus on the words. “Cha'el.” A pause. “I don't have pants on.” This is a rather serious sticking point. “And these,” he gestures towards the ones barely preserving his modesty, “have blood on them.”

That blush says it all, K’vvan’s mind so went there the knowledge putting a smug curl to the brownrider’s lips. “Aye, and?” Brows tick up and broad shoulders shrug, thick muscle rippling beneath the taut stretch of tanned skin. “There’s no on here to see you.” Save for him. “You haven’t sailed ‘til you’ve done it in the buff. Tell you what,” arms unwrap from his knees and drop to the drawstring of his shorts. “I’ll take mine off too.” Cha’el offers beginning to untie the string.

“Shells no!” Not that K'vvan objects persay to Cha'el not having clothes on but the brownrider is already shirtless and tempting enough. “Keep your damn pants on. I'll just…” he casts around looking for something that might help make this situation a little less heated. Something. Anything.

Amusement deepens at the speed of K’vvan’s reply, released in a throaty chuckle and while hands still their task of releasing the drawstring knot, they don’t retreat. Not at first. Lingering a few moments as if Cha’el might ignore the demand to keep his pants on, he pulls a wicked move. Leaning slightly in toward the greenider, a hand lifts and places lightly to his shirt covered abdomen then slowly palms a path downward skipping over bloodied shorts pooled in his lap then tracking slightly out sideways as if perhaps the brownrider means to whip the covering fabric away. “You’ll just what, hmm?” Low teasing as fingertips slip across exposed thigh between shorts and towel. “I’ve seen it all before, K’vv.” Baritone dropping to a low thrum of sound as reminder is served up.

K'vvan's breath catches abruptly, and heart rate, already accelerated from exertion pounds under that gentle touch. The ice in the towel is melting very quickly, and it is only that coolness so close to other parts that keeps him breathing throughout Cha'el's teasing. Caution is thrown very much to the winds, though small voice in the back of his head warns he'll regret this later, and he leans forward to catch Cha'el's mouth with his, allowing some of his hunger to escape the firm control it had been under.

And that’s all it takes, just that one slip, that one bold move in which wisps of hunger escape and Cha’el is all over that. Fishing be damned and screw what the sea avians might see, right now it’s just him and K’vvan on little boat rocking in the ocean beneath a wide sky of blue. Every advantage afforded will be pressed, every opportunity to connect in the most physical of means taken with gentle persuasion until lungs labor for air and he’s not sure which is up and which is down or where he begins and K’vvan ends.

K'vvan loses himself for one blissful moment, his world curling away. But when Cha'el's hands move closer and those shorts slip away he comes back to Earth abruptly, other memories pushing themselves in place of his brownrider. The kiss breaks leaving K'vvan searching for air as he scrambles backwards just an inch till his back bumps up against the side of the boat. There is a wildness in his eyes, as well as frustration. Why can he not do this most basic of things without freaking out? Why does this have to be so hard?

Yes, he’d needed to catch his breath but when K’vvan goes skittering away from him like a nervous runner, Cha’el is left blinking in his wake, broad chest rising and falling with the swift battle for air. Through the hunger and heat smoldering in blue eyes pierces a cloud of frustration. What had he done wrong? How had he freaked K’vvan out when before….Exhaling a rumbling sigh, his senses still flooded with raw physical desire, the brownrider scrapes a hand through his hair and drops his head. “Fuck.” A whisper of air, barely speech at all.

“I'm sorry.” K'vvan whispers in the space between them. The remaining ice has melted and K'vvan realizes the solution to his naked problem had been in his hand the whole time. He hauls himself to his feet and wraps the towel tightly around his slender hips, kicking the blood spotted pants out of the way. One hand is kept on the railing as he stumbles away from the brownrider, towards that seat they had occupied before, and the abandoned bottle of ale waiting there. His hands tremble as he grabs up the bottle, his back to Cha'el.

Yeah, he’s going to need a minute here probably ten if he plans on standing to his feet at some point. “Don’t…” Cha’el murmurs huskily. Both hands lift to scrub over his face and then drop to dangle over the tops of knees now drawn up. Tracking K’vvan’s wrap of towel around slim hips and ensuing path to the curved bench built into the stern of the little boat, the brownrider, a hulking mess of arousal with nowhere to go, looks away again and out to the calming blue of the ocean beyond. “What’s changed between now and then?” He finally breaks his silence to quietly ask from where he remains plonked in the middle of the deck. “Is it darkness? Do you need the dark?” Because he’s really trying to understand.

The bottle is opened and a majority of the contents downed before K'vvan can even consider answering the questions. They stab at him as shame races downwards. "Nadeeth." It's a bit hard for K'vvan to admit, and he refuses to look at Cha'el when he finally does speak. "She was helping me push it back last time. I can't do it on my own apparently." Bitterness has risen in his tone, and he downs the last of the bottle in his hand and turns his gaze outwards onto the ocean.

At the dainty green’s name, Cha’el pulls his gaze from the soft swells of the undulating sea and slips a sidelong glance K’vvan’s way as he tries to explain himself. Perhaps it’s the bitter note in his tone or maybe he’s just had enough time to tackle desire back under control. Either way, the brownrider slowly pushes to his feet, bends to take up the other unopened bottle of beer and makes his way over to where the other rider is. Parking his butt next to him though careful to keep a gap between them, he works on opening the beer but doesn’t initially drink despite how parched he now is. “Sikorth has helped me before,” a pause in which he darts a look K’vvan’s way. “He helped me that night.” Though for completely opposite reasons which he’s not about to go into right now. “There’s no shame in that. They’re a part of us. In everything that we do. Whether we lean on them at times or not.”

If it wasn’t for the awkwardness of the towel around his waist K’vvan would curl himself up. As it stands though he simply crosses his arms and physically shrinks into himself. “This scares me. More than Thread.” It is a hard admission to make, the words grating out slowly. Silence follows, his gaze downwards, no longer directed at the sea. “I… know that makes things…. hard. For you.” How to verbalize it? “I don’t care if you…. with others. Outside of flights.”

His attention having dropped to a point at the deck between his feet, Cha’el’s gaze snaps up and across to K’vvan at that hard won confession. But he says nothing. Not until the younger man has finished speaking. Then, transferring his beer into the other hand he lightly rests the free one palm up on the greenrider’s toweled thigh, silent offer for him to take it. A simple contact, a twining of fingers to join hands that he hopes will be viewed as non-threatening. “And if I did that, where would that leave us, hmm?” Quietly voiced and lacking the enthusiasm K’vvan might expect from him.

Non threatening indeed, and K’vvan reaches out to take Cha’el’s hand freely. It doesn’t stop the shaking, but it does, at least, provide some outlet. “Right where we are. Cha’el… what is this?” Emotional inexperience on total display. “I want to spend time with you, but I also want to push you away and run. I… have always been alone. You talked to Trek about this.” There is no anger in the accusation, just bewilderment. “You want to be… with me?” Disbelief still curls at the heart of that statement.

When K’vvan doesn’t shun the offer, fingers twine and tighten in a light squeeze. “Aye, I want to be with you.” Cha’el confirms starting at the end and working to the beginning. A small smile slips free and he gives a short shake of head. “Not about this…us. I just told her I thought you could use a day off away from the Weyr and duties.” There’s a patch of silence that develops filled by the slosh of warming ale in the bottle that lifts to his lips. “This?” That smile returns. “Is whatever we want it to be. You don’t have to be alone, K’vv. Not unless that’s how you really want it. I uh…I hope you choose not to be.”

“Whatever this is,” K’vvan refuses to acknowledge a ‘relationship’ of any kind. “Can we keep it to… just us? I mean… Sienna and Erissa know but… no one else?” Because secrets are the perfect way to start a… whatever this is right? He returns the squeeze tentatively, lifting his gaze upwards to Cha’el’s, hoping he’ll be alright with the restriction.

The surge of elation that sweeps through Cha’el and puts a goofy grin on his face obliterates sense and finds him uttering a low chuckle. “Want me all to yourself, eh?” He teases bumping his shoulder against K’vvan’s. “Aye, we can keep it quiet.” Assuming that to be intended as ‘while we find our feet’ sort of restriction. “But I think Trek might have caught wind of something.”

That’s cute. Cha’el thinks that K’vvan is ever going to want to come out. But as that particular assumption isn’t actually brought into the light of day, K’vvan remains ignorant of it. “I’m serious Cha’el,” even as he tightens his hand around the brownrider, and a faint frown crosses his face again. “I don’t mind if you … with others. Since I can’t. Just… let me know. Or not.” K’vvan is just about the least possessive relationship Cha’el will ever have. Maybe he doesn’t even realize that statements like this are what bring about the end of relationships. “I mean… we’re friends?” At least? That causes K’vvan to frown deeply, and reach out to Nadeeth.

Pale yellow silk, warmed by sun and attention curls in affirmation of his thought. Friends, at least, before slipping away to focus on the current diversion that the brown has focused her upon.

Oblivious Cha’el, is oblivious and apparently happily so for the time being. Or perhaps that has more to do with the distraction provided by the conversation K’vvan turns back to. Dark brows drop into a frown and eyes to their hands clasped together. “More than friends.” He’ll say it if the other rider won’t. “K’vv…” sea-blue eyes lift and latch to deepest green. “Even if there were to be others, I’d still want you. That night…” Words trail, his frown deepens and then smoothes away. “It meant a lot…to me.”

They'll just have to agree to disagree on that. Friends with benefits? Except, that would require K'vvan to be able to provide said benefits without assistance. ANYWAY. "It meant a lot to me too. And we can keep trying?" Is Cha'el down with practice and a whole pile of rejection when K'vvan realizes he still isn't ready for that again?

Warmth replaces any earlier frustration when K’vv returns the sentiment on that one night they’ve shared together thus far. “Practice makes perfect,” Cha’el tells him leaning sideways a little more to deliver those words in a low purr to the younger man’s ear. Rejection? Frustration? Hopefully the brownrider doesn’t wind up rupturing a blood vessel in the process.

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