Winter - Month 2 of Turn 2717
Half Moon Bay Weyr - Library
A haven for all seeking a moment's peace, the library is tranquil, quiet, comfortable, a space to escape the chaotic bustle of weyr life. Half Moon colors prevail here, unsubtle but tasteful and eked out by dark, polished wood, flickers of white fabric, and a dazzling array of chandeliers. Rows of false stained glass windows line the room's far wall, giving the room an open, airy feel without risking climate damage to books, scrolls, and hides, of which the weyr has plenty. Rows upon rows of recessed shelves climb one upon the other along the left wall, reaching towards a high ceiling and accessible only by book ladders that have been cleverly angled to allow use of them all simultaneously.

Smaller free-standing bookcases crawl through the rest of the space, some low-slung and tucked up against bannisters and raised platforms, others standing freely back to back to best make use of the space given. Chairs and couches are woven betwixt and between, sometimes standalone, sometimes accompanied by endstands or low-slung tables, plush rugs breaking up the polished grey tile of the floor. Most furnishings are of a dark purple or teal, accented by ebony woodwork and white and gold pillows.

One corner has been dedicated to more serious studies, circular tables and wooden chairs clustered about one another, rigidity and quiet camaraderie meant to encourage focus rather than comfort. A mobile server tucked against this wall features a small pot of klah, hot water for tea, and finger-foods to keep minds stimulated, all carefully watched over by the librarian, whose desk looms nearby. The other corner features two computers, neither terribly fast or efficient in the way of such public things, but available for free use for those in need nonetheless.

There is little resistance to the wind of arms around him, and even what might have been there dissolved at the slide of fingers through his hair. R'sner's attention has been well and truly stolen, forgetting even the dirt-caked Toith until the request involves being alone and unfindable. "Ah…" and a glance for the dragon, because like HELL are they getting anywhere on that muddy beast. The whisper of a smile that plays at the edges of his mouth waivers just slightly for mention of his appearance, though he's quick enough to note, "You are the one who made the vest." Because assuredly that has something to do with things. "Come on," and he gently unwinds the arms around him, collecting Nassir's hand instead to pull him back towards the lower caverns. It is a long and twisty sort of passage that he takes, though perhaps that has more to do with avoiding crowds than because his destination is difficult to get too. In the end, it is not a cozy nook, or a hidden grotto that Res takes them too, but rather to the library. A /library/. Of all places. But, perhaps there is reason for his madness when he admits, "This is one of my favorite places in the weyr." Bonus: It's almost always empty.

Nassir allows himself to be tugged along, more then relieved when they manage to evade visitors and residents, alike. When they step into a library, however, Nassir flashes R'sner a surprised smile. "This is perfect." More so with it being empty. Stepping toward the heavily laden shelves, he trails his fingers along the spine of a book, his head to tilting to the side as he slants a glance back at the Weyrlingmaster. "I'm glad I stayed for the hatching," he admits as he turns around and leans against the shelf. "It was…. amazing." In the wake of the words, his tongue brushes his lips, his gaze trailing the length of Res' form. "I like Lani, she cares alot about you."

A measure of relief that the space is acceptable. It /is/ one of R'sner's favorite places, and he can't help but to glance around it in fondness; over shelves and books and even the chandeliers that hang from the ceiling. It is a table that the weyrlingmaster selects to lean against, arms crossing over his chest comfortable as he releases his hold on Nassir's hand. But his gaze follows him even if Res briefly does not, watching intently as he trails fingers over book spines and then turns to lean against the shelf. An inquisitive lift of his eyebrows for the Hatching, followed by a knowing look for the assertion that it was amazing. It was. And he knows it. It's that brush of tongue over lips that has him moving, pushing up from the table to very quickly close the distance between them. His hands find him at the same time that he is mentioning Lani; warm palms and calloused fingers firm but gentle at the sides of his face as he leans in to capture his mouth with a kiss that is anything but chaste. Lani? Lani who? She might care about R'sner a lot, but right now he is not thinking of anyone but Nassir.

A low groan rises in Nassir's throat at the warm press of lips. Immediately, his arms sweep up, blunt nails trailing along R'sner's spine before his hands come to rest on lean shoulders. Words, riders, eggs, they're all forgotten, pushed off into a corner of his mind as he does his level best to communicate all the things he's still not certain he should say. Chaste is just another word he is all to happy to toss into obscurity, his fingers tightening on R'sner's shoulders as he does his damnedest to learn every nook and crannie of the man's mouth. Tilting his head back, his teeth lightly capture Res' lower lip, the pressure increasing just shy of being painful. By the time he releases that flesh, his breath is coming slow and shallow, dark eyes glittering beneath a heavy fringe of darker lash. "Do you," he whispers before catching those lips again in a tender suckling. "Have any idea how deeply you have affected me?" As the words are uttered, his tongue trails over the Weyrlingmaster's lips, a shiver running up the length of his spine as he draws the taste of him into his mouth.

The groan that rises; the nails up his back over shirt and vest; the grasp of shoulders and the reciprocation of his kiss. It does well to remove whatever vestige of hesitation that might have remained within R'sner. There is tension in his frame, but it is for the adrenaline in his bloodstream; for the taste and feel and sound of Nassir that quickly enough has those calloused hands sliding back and threading fingers into the dark curls of his hair. To twist and grasp and hold and /keep/ him there as the weyrlingmaster devotes himself to that kiss. The teeth to his lip brings a rougher sound from his chest, low and hungry and encouraging. It is with some reluctance that he releases him, and only so far as he must to allow for adequate breathing and the ability to speak. But he remains where he is; pressed up against Nassir to trap him between his body and the shelf at his back. "No." Because he doesn't know; as much as it might be obvious to the world, as much as that question should be rhetorical, as much as he /ought/ to know… he doesn't. But the question may not be nearly as important as the sensation of tongue over skin; or the sound of the groan that pulls from Res at the contact.

Looking up into R'sner's eyes, Nassir finds himself struggling to keep track of what he had been saying. And as much as it is important, as much as he wants to make certain that the Weyrlingmaster knows? It is impossible to think with the press of that body against his own. Worse, perhaps, is the fact that the thought of losing that contact is nearly enough to drag a cry from his lips. It is the thought that has one leg stretching out, the tailor's booted foot hooking around Res' calve in an attempt to keep him right where he is. "I love everything about you," he whispers. Ducking his head, his lips seek the hollow of R'sner's throat, his tongue pressing against the heartbeat fluttering below warm flesh. "I love the sound of your voice," he husks. "I love the impossible blue of your eyes." Exhaling a warm breath over saliva moistened flesh, his lips glide upward, teeth and tongue tasting the weyrlingmaster's flesh on their way back to his lips. "I love that your favorite room is a library and that you are sucker for puppies," he murmurs against kiss swollen lips. "I love that just by walking into a room, you have me smiling…" Trailing off a breathy sound, Nassir captures his lips in a slow kiss, his fingers splaying as they slide down the length of R'sner's spine to rest at the small of his back. "I love that the thought of being away from you hurts my heart."

There had been no intention of moving, of releasing the hold that R'sner has established, or withdrawing from against him. Until the first sentence is uttered, and has his blood running cold rather than hot. It is an almost immediate response; the tension that slams into his form, so much more pronounced than the tautness fueled by lust and carnal desire. This is a frozen sort of stiffness that has him locking up and immobile. It's fear that has his pulse racing now and turns his breathing swift and shallow. But he doesn't move, if just because he can't will himself to do so. The warm breath against moist skin, the lips and teeth and tongue that trail it, might bring a rush of gooseflesh across exposed skin but it's ice that is growing in his core. "Nassir." And his name is a plea; a desperate request to stop because he can't handle the things that are being told to him. Because there is a tight, squeezing sensation in his chest that makes it hard to breath and only tightens further at the slow kiss and the final statement. He can't look at him and so he averts his gaze, fixing those impossible blue eyes on the spine of a book without actually seeing it. "Don't… please don't say that you love me," even though he basically said just that. "I can't…" but whatever he can't do, he can't say, as the words fail him and he simply goes mute. Silent. A living statue.

For a long moment, Nassir is perfectly still, only his brows furrowing as his brain works at making sense of what is happening. "Oh." The word is breathed before he can stop it, his adams apple bobbing as he swallows and gives a faint shake of his head. "Right. No.. No," he stammers as his hands smooth over R'sner's hips. "No, I… Of course you can't." Faltering for a moment, he carefully untangles their legs, one hand raising to press in a gently reassuring fashion against the Werylingmaster's shoulder. "I am sorry, R'sner. You're fine. Everything is fine." Everything is most assuredly not fine, but he doesn't know what else to do. "It's nothing," he assures with a forced toss of his head. "Just an emotional day and my being over-dramatic."

No, everything is definitely not fine. It is the untangling of limbs and the press of a hand to his shoulder that brings a drop of R'sner's head and a brief return of his gaze. He is still tightly wound, muscles taut beneath skin, but there's a conscious effort being made into taking deeper breaths. In talking himself off the cliff. The apology though? That seems to bring him back a bit, and there's a legitimately remorseful expression. "Don't apologize," and though the words are somewhat hoarse; hushed and more whisper than anything else, at least he's found his voice again. His fingers have untangled from the hair he held, hands dropping so that his thumbs can brush against Nassir's cheeks. "It's not your fault," because it isn't. This is entirely R'sner's own doing. "I just… I need a moment." But he will take that moment right where he is, with his hands on Nassir's cheeks and his forehead dropped to press against his; to keep him close. It is not a frigid silence this time, and it does not last more than a few, deep breaths. "You once said that you wanted to know what scared me," is murmured. "Is that still true?"

Nassir has no idea what is wrong. Only that something is terribly, impossibly wrong and he still has no desire to move, no desire to be anywhere but right where he is. It is only when R'sner moves and speaks that some of the tightness in his chest eases, a breath spilling past his lips at the press of the brow against his own. "Take all the time you need," he whispers. Watching those few deep breaths being drawn, his hands smooths gently over the Weyrlingmaster's shoulder, long fingers curling lightly against his throat. It is the last, however that has him searching cobalt blue eyes, the worry in his own gaze easy to read. "Of course it is still true." Despite his redacting of his passion induced declaration, the words the true.

Things certainly have taken a rather sharp turn for the left. Having a brief panic attack is not exactly how R'sner saw his evening going, but he's recovering from it slowly but surely, even if it's an uphill battle. A shallow nod of his head in acknowledgement. "Truthfully?" And there could almost be amusement, if he wasn't being so damn serious when he says, "I'm scared of this. I'm scared of you. I'm scared of how much I want you, and what that means. And I am scared that I will hurt you, because I can't… because I don't know if I can…" A brief pause, and a lift of his head so that he can search Nassir's face briefly. "Five turns ago, the person I thought I couldn't live without died. And impossibly, I survived it. But I can't do it again," and a flicker of a frown, concern and apology in one. "Do you understand…?"

Nassir watches R'sner's face as he speaks, dark eyes searching blue. Still he remains silent, letting the man get what he wants to say out without being interupted. It is only once he is certain that Res is finished that Nassir nods slowly. "I.. I understand." Still the words are quiet, emotion pushed down and locked away til his throat is almost painfully clenched. It's the apology he sees in R'sner's face that stirs a shallow sob to hiccoughing up. It is sucked in sharply, however, that momentary slip of feeling locked right back up. "I told you that I care for you, R'sner," he whispers. "That is not going away. I… I am sorry that I.. It was not my intention to…" Really he doesn't know what to say and takes him a moment to pull it together. "It's alright," he finally offers.

It is that shallow sob, aborted though it may be, that R'sner was afraid of; the pain he was afraid of causing because of his own hang ups. "Don't apologize." Repeated, this time a bit more firmly. It comes with a press of his lips to Nassir's forehead; a kiss that lingers longer than it ought to. And then there is a shift of his weight, a release of pressure as he leans away and releases him from the bookshelf he'd caught him between. A scrub of his hands over his face, which turns into a rake of fingers through his hair as he exhales audibly. A chair is snagged and pulled from beneath a table and R'sner drops into it as though suddenly exhausted and thoroughly drained. "I am sorry, Nassir. This is not…" how he thought the night was going to play out. "If you want me to take you back to Igen, I understand."

Nassir remains where he is for a long moment, the space allowing him to pull himself together enough to clear his throat. Listening to what is being said, he frowns, pushing himself off the shelf and stepping over to drop into a crouch next to R'sner's chair. "Don't you ever apologize for holding on to your love." Drawing in a shallow breath, he reaches out, lightly gripping R'sner's hand. "If anything /I/ should be apologizing for trying to get in the way of that memory. I.. I cannot pretend to know how you must be feeling, R'sner. I've been in love once and well…" Clearing his throat, he offers a wan smile. "I'm here until you tell me to leave and I'll come back until you tell me to stop. " he promises. "I'll do my best to stop being…. touchy. Alright? Just please, know that it was never my intention to hurt you?"

"Don't go," decides R'sner, returning the grasp of his hand with a twist of his wrist and a catch of fingers. "I want you to stay. I want /you/," but the thought is frightening, and leaves him feeling vulnerable and exposed when he'd rather be guarded and safe. "I just… need some time." A firmer grasp of the hand now held, though he won't protest if it's withdrawn.

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