Not as Awkward Conversations and... no more mud.

Spring - Month 4 of Turn 2717
Half Moon Bay Weyr - Weyrlingmaster's Office
Not far from the barracks proper is another wooden slat building serving as the main office of the Weyrlingmasters. The wrap around patio offers a place for Weyrlings to sit while instructors give lectures outdoors and for the Weyrlingstaff to conduct nocturnal watch while their charges are attempting to rest for the night. A small table is set up in one corner of the patio with a small clay oven, allowing kettles to be heated and small meals kept warm should the need arise.

Inside the building wields another purpose… This office was made with business in mind, and not for comfort. Upon entering, a large woven midnight blue rug runs the length of the room, ending right before the Weyrlingmaster's desk. A pair of smaller desks for Assistants are lined up on the right, facing the carpet and the wall of cabinets assembled on the left. A ceiling fan spins slowly overhead, spreading what cool air it can.

Disclaimer: They have a real grown-up conversation about sex and mating flights.

ooc: this log takes place immediately after Awkward Conversations and... mud.

"Know what?" Because maybe Nassir was going to let it go, but apparently R'sner has found his voice and would like an answer to that question. It is not particularly heated; not even particularly accusing. Just… spoken, in a tone that is somewhat low and somewhat neutral and somewhat frustrated if just because Res is somewhat frustrated. He pauses at the top of the stairs, poised on the patio beneath the awning that keeps the weather at bay. An assortment of chairs are available, and one of these is where Res eventually heads after that brief moment of consideration. His jacket is stripped from his shoulders, slung across the rail of the patio to dry, and then he's dropping himself into the seat and turning expectant eyes on Nassir.

Nassir sets the basket down, his head tilting as he watches Res' face. "You're pissed." Not really a question. Crossing the patio, he waits for the rider to be settled before very purposefully moving to sit astride his lap. "Z'tan is a young man," he points out. "He's going to think about sex no matter happens. It seems to me that the best way to let him get it out of his system is to make him feel comfortable talking about it. If I overstepped, and clearly I did, you have my sincere apologies." In the wake of the words, he rests his hands on R'sner's shoulders, his expression turning quietly serious. "I could never do it," he muses.

"Am I?" It's a rhetorical question. R'sner is clearly unhappy, and he knows he's unhappy, and yet putting a label on it feels weird and atypical. He does not contest Nassir's choice of seats, but he likely makes a rather comfortable chair, all tense and such. "I know perfectly well what he is, has, and will be thinking about," which might be a touch sharper than he meant it to be, though true to previous words, his voice is not at all loud. Emphatic, without being heated. "And it is hard enough without holding conversations about it. Z'tan," he confirms, "has a reputation. Enough of one that—" but he just stops right there, because anything else he might have to say on the matter would likely cross some sort of line. Discussion of his weyrlings personal lives is not an appropriate conversation, given his position. Confidentiality, or some such. Even if there is no formal, documented, rule-based reason for it. And so there is just an audible exhale rather than a continuation on that subject, a slant of blue eyes that peers toward the rain-drenched training field rather than the tailor astride his lap. "Do not take offense when I say this," he prefaces on the heels of the apology, gaze returning to Nassir, "But you are not a dragonrider. You have never been a weyrling. And as well-meaning as your intentions may have been… please trust that I know how to do my job, including when to have difficult conversations with the weyrlings." And that, was an awful lot of words from a man who typically says very little without good cause. But he will offer four more in the form of a question, an inquiring, "Could not do what?"

"You're right," Nassir allows in quiet tones. Falling silent, he glances over his shoulder toward the field, frowning faintly. When he looks back, he lightly clears his throat, his hands smoothing down the center of R'sner's chest. "It was not my intention to insult you. I'll be more careful about what I say when I come to visit," he promises. At the last, he gives a mild shake of his head, his shoulders rising and falling in a shrug. "I am sorry," he admits. "I have been known to get carried away without thinking things through, first."

R'sner may have fallen quiet once again, but it is contemplative, rather than frigid. His default-silence, per se. His frustrations have ebbed, his tension dying with it the longer his gaze lingers on Nassir. His hands find the tailor's legs, a gentle rub along the tops of his thighs that is meant to be a reassurance. "I am not insulted," he decides. But whatever it is that he is, he can't seem to decide. Or at least, he cannot seem to give it voice. That his eyes remain on Nassir is certainly a positive sign; that his hands flow up to his hips, to take hold and pull him closer so that Res can wrap his arms around him, should be confirmation enough that his apologies have been accepted; or that they may not have been necessary in the first place. There is a search of his face before he offers, "I'm not angry with you," in case it needed to be said.

Nassir sinks in against R'sner's chest, his arms raising to loop loosely around his shoulders. For a moment, he is quiet, thinking. It is on a sigh that he turns his head, tucking his face into the curve of the Weyrlingmaster's throat. "You'd have every right to be," he admits. "You're right, I do not understand the intricacies of what you, or the weyrlings are." Shifting against R'sner's chest, he smiles quietly as he reaches up to brush his fingers over the nape of his neck. "Nor do I know Z'tan," he admits. "Can you tell me why they have that rule? I am curious. Although, you have my word I will not offer 'advice', again."

"I can," R'sner agrees. "And I will. There is nothing taught to the weyrlings that is proprietary information; I will tell you whatever you want to know about their training." But there is still a pause, a moment spent either collecting his thoughts, sorting through what he might say, or maybe to simply enjoy the brush of fingers across the nape of his neck. "It may be… difficult to understand without experiencing it yourself," he prefaces with a hint of apology, "But I will do my best to explain. The dragons… It can be easy to assume, because they can speak clearly and understand some rather complex subjects even at such a young age, that they function at the same sort of cognitive level as we do. But that would be an erroneous assumption," and here his voice subtly shifts, into the tone most likely used for the teaching of lessons and lectures. "The easiest way to explain it is… young dragons can be jealous. Rather violently so, in regards to their human. Think of them as extremely insecure, jealous lovers. Especially at that age. And if they suspect, if they think that their weyrling might leave them for another? They can react… badly. Become very distraught. Even violent. I have heard rumors of weyrling dragons going Between because of it, though I have not been able to confirm such with factual evidence. And young dragons are particularly prone to strong emotions. And if you consider for a moment, just how powerful attraction, lust and arousal, can be? Let alone what might be dominating someone's thoughts during the act of sex itself…? They simply aren't old enough to understand what it means, other than it is stealing away their human away from them." A frown, and he considers Nassir briefly before asking, "Does that make sense?"

Nassir shifts a bit in R'sner's lap, just enough to allow him to see the weyrlingmaster's face as he speaks. That he is really interested and paying attention is clear from the mild furrowing of his brow. "It makes sense," he admits. "But speaking as a young, sexually active man? Those thoughts and needs are going to come up one way or another. I mean, I was not advocating Z'tan going out and fucking someone," pausing a beat, he looks a bit mortified. "You know that, right?" And just as quickly, he blinks and lightly clears his throat. "You can decline, if you are asked to be a candidate, yes?"

"They can, and they do," agrees R'sner, "but it is not the thoughts themselves that the dragons seem to take issue with so much as… who those thoughts are directed toward…" and here again he seems to be at a loss for how to adequately explain, shifting a bit beneath Nassir in a manner that is perhaps a touch uncomfortable, though it is not so much for the subject matter as R'sner's inability to explain adequately. "There is a difference, between feeling arousal, and acting on it. Between appreciating someone who is physically attractive, and intentionally picturing sexual acts with them. Feeling attraction, being aroused… these are things that can be /explained/ to the dragon when they happen; though the likelihood that the entire barracks will also be aware of it is… high." Which is why baby dragons are kept far, far away from the rest of the populace. "But actually acting on those thoughts? Or spending an overtly long time dwelling on another person… it can be upsetting. The younger they are, the more difficult it seems to be… and while each dragon is unique, the general consensus is to restrict the weyrlings from physical intimacy until the dragons are mature enough to mate themselves." A small frown precedes a bit of a grin; just the hint of it at the corner of his mouth. "You can," he agrees. "But I would not decline because you are worried about going without sex for a turn or two." Or two. Yeah. He said that.

Nassir blinks once, his brows arching at the 'or two'. "Two? Why would it be two?" Fairly certain he is being teased, however, he snorts and raises one hand to gently cup R'sner's cheek. For a long moment, he simply studies his face before leaning in to brush a kiss over his lips. It's not the sex he is worried about. That is a purely whimsical thought, in it's entirety? Something he hardly needs to concern himself with it is still there tickling at his mind. "I don't think you appreciate how gorgeous you are," he whispers against warm lips. "But.. I get it. I imagine it has be awkward explain sex and arousal to dragons. Not to mention having it broadcasted to every other dragon in the barracks when you have a hardon. At what point do they dragons become sexually aware? I mean…What if their Weyrling is a virgin?"

"Candidates are prohibited from sex as well," explains R'sner with a rather amused expression. "Between candidacy and weyrlinghood… about two Turns in total." Lucky, lucky weyrlings. But the mirth in his eyes fades to something softer, something borderline tender, at the brush of lips and affection displayed. Though, as is likely no surprise by now, there is no affirmation or comment regarding his lack of appreciation for himself. "Mm," for the inherent awkwardness. "For greens… around one and a half turns in age. Golds tend to be a bit later, around two turns. But the weyrlings are not restricted until their dragons are fully mature… just until they are mentally mature enough to handle the idea of their weyrling being with another person, and understanding that it does not mean they are loved any less, which for most dragons is just after a Turn or so. Here it is variable, and depends on the dragon and rider." As for virgins? A particularly rueful sort of look. "Virgins are highly encouraged to… attend to that matter before their dragons rise. Between the release from restrictions and when males tend to rising to chase… there is time enough to sort it out. And I," informs R'sner with a particularly ironic twist of his mouth that is not at all amused, "get to have that discussion with them." The joys of telling weyrlings to go get laid. "It really isn't as bad as you might think, that forced abstinence."

Clearly Nassir was not aware of the restrictions on candidates, as well. That much is clear from the startled look on his face. "Well." What can he say to that, really? Lightly clearing his throat, his lips twitch in a wry smile, his fingers lightly plucking at the collar of R'sner's shirt. "I suppose that makes sense.. I'm assuming it's to avoid risk of pregnancy and just made unilateral to be fair?" At the mention of having to have that conversation with his weyrlings, Nassir's expression softens. "You'll do fine. You have a way of being very reassuring about those sorts of things." In the wake the words, his expression softens, dark lashes sweeping down as he traces the line of the collar with one finger. "I had no idea there was so much involved," he admits. "You have a lot on your plate. You definately need to keep an eye on Z'tan." Cause that boy is girl crazy and then some.

"It is a conversation I have had with weyrlings before," as this is not his first class. But that does not mean that R'sner relishes the thought of giving it. But there is a bit of a grin, something that is amused and almost playful, as he watches Nassir's reaction to these revelations of rules and restrictions. "I will be keeping a very close eye on him, yes. Though Ysgieuth will do well to regulate his behaviors for a few months more. As I said… young dragons tend to project emotions, particularly strong ones," and there is definitely a hint of amusement, of mirth, of laughter in his expression at a memory called to mind. "When I was a weyrling," he begins, "One of my clutchmates had a… particularly vivid dream," and his tone ought to leave no confusion about what kind of dream it was, or what parts of it were especially vivid, "regarding one of our other weyrlings. And his dragon decided he ought to… share the experience with the rest of us sleeping weyrlings." Oh, he can laugh about it now but at the time? Horror. Sheer horror. But now there's humor and mischief and a grin that plays at the edges of his mouth for the remembrance. And so it might be something of a surprise when he next asks, "If you were asked to Stand, what would you say?"

The story inspires a laugh to spilling past Nassir's lips, dark eyes twinkling with an amusement that fades almost the second the question is asked. Rather then respond right away, he draws in a shallow breath, his hand scrubbing over his face. "I have to say no," he decides. "How could I possibly say yes to something like that? It's /not/ the sex," he states quickly. "But I…" Frowning, he scrubs his hand over his face again, his weight shifting as he moves to stand. "You can barely look at me as it is when I say I love you, R'sner." A thousand fears rise to make his chest feel tight to the point that he actually presses his hand over his heart. "I don't want to lose you because I spent a turn playing at purity. And we /both/ know I am to honest to pretend I do not feel as I feel." Shaking his head, he steps away, nudging the basket with his foot as he braces his hands on the railing. "I don't want lose you."

"Have to?" murmurs R'sner in reply, briefly confused but soon enough enlightened. His expression goes briefly tight, a frown pulling at his mouth, gaze fixed steadily on Nassir as he rises. There is a moment in which Res appears as though he means to stop him, to catch at his waist, or his hand, to postpone retreat until it is clear that Nassir is not leaving but simply standing and moving to the rail. But he has no words with which to counter that initial argument, at least not that make it past his lips in a timely fashion. But he is on his feet soon enough, pushing up from the chair and closing the distance in a few fluid movements, and soon enough putting his arms back around Nassir in an embrace that is tight, and vaguely possessive. "That," he murmurs with a certainty that might even surprise him, "will not happen." But while those words come quick enough, it is another moment spent in silence before he can will any more of them into being. "Do you think I would begrudge you the chance at Impression if you wanted it? That I would be… that I could be so…" a deep breath, to ground and center and bring him back to focus. "You are very important to me," is what he eventually settles upon, insufficient as it might be.

Nassir closes his eyes at the arms wrapping around him, a slow breath drawn in as he leans back against R'sner's chest. "I think you would convince yourself it was the right thing to do," he whispers. Falling silent, a low snort is exhaled, his hand smoothing over R'sner's arms. "It's silly to even have this conversation," he murmurs. "It's Maisy's flight.. gets you thinking about all the whatifs." Saying it outloud is a relief. Relief enough that he twists in the Weyrlingmaster's arms and wraps his own around his waist. As his gaze sweeps up to meet cobalt blue eyes it is abundantly clear that the words were not insufficent, at all. Staring for a moment, Nassir finally leans to nuzzle at the line of R'sner's jaw. "Just promise me that no matter what happens, if you decide you no longer want to be here… with me.. you'll just say that and be done with it."

"The right thing to do." Repeated, as though he is not sure what to make of the words, though there is a resolute shake of his head. "No," and once more, R'sner is firm enough; without hesitation in the word or the wrap of his arms. "In that, you are wrong. I would not give you up, simply because of some… rules. I would not give you up, simply because a dragon claimed you, Nassir." For while the discussion is somewhat hypothetical, borderline impractical, R'sner has seen it happen often enough to consider the 'worst case scenario'. There is a tightness in his chest for it; a sudden stutter in the steadiness of his breathing, and a fierce press of his lips to the side of the tailor's head that lingers until he is turning within his arms and Res is releasing his grasp to allow it. Res meets that gaze without wavering, cobalt-blue eyes fixed on Nassir's face with a particular sort of intensity; a raw sort of emotion that is briefly on display before he's caught himself at it and reins it in. But his hands catch at his cheeks nonetheless, drawing him back to the weyrlingmaster's searching gaze after his jaw is nuzzled. It is the words that inspired the action, and for a moment Res looks thoroughly stunned. "Why…" why would he say that. But the word's don't come, because R'sner knows why. He's suddenly keenly aware of why Nassir might harbor such thoughts as to believe that he could leave so easily. And it is that realization that has him speaking, a firm, "That won't happen," that defies arguments. "You don't understand," and it's his fault, because he's been ducking and weaving away from this very sort of conversation practically since they met. "You are the first person… the first person I've wanted… that I've cared about in this way, since…" but of course he can't finish that sentence.

For the first time, Nassir actually averts his gaze when those hands cup his cheeks. Staring to the left of R'sner's shoulder, he draws in a shallow breath before meeting the Weyrlingmaster's gaze. This is silly, and he knows it, and he immediately regrets letting himself get worked up. "I'm sorry," he whispers. Closing his eyes, he takes a moment to shake off the worry and exhales a self-mocking laugh. "It all just spun out of control in my head after Maisy's flight," he admits. "It's hard not to think about it. As ridiculous as it is." Still, he did not miss the look in R'sner's eyes before it was schooled away to something more tightly controlled. It's enough. Enough to stir his lashes to sweeping back up and his head to tilting into the hands on his face. It's the last, however, that softens his expresssion, his hands smoothing down to grip the greenrider's hips. "I know," he assures. And usually, he does.

"No," is the counter argument, accompanied with a deepening frown. "I don't think you do. Or you would not have said what you said." Or fear, what Nassir clearly fears. It is not accusatory. R'sner is not attempting to provoke a fight, but rather to relieve worries that he knows are his own fault for being so tight-lipped and guarded about how he feels. Which is not without its own concerns; and certainly the weyrlingmaster is not relaxed in this moment. He is not comfortable. He is not effortlessly offering up words as though they were always there to be given. This is a challenge; it is a struggle. And it shows in the tightness of his frame and the flash of his eyes, and the tightness of his jaw as he fights against his natural inclination to retreat behind silence and solitude. To hide even from himself what he knows to be true. But he is trying, because this was important. "You have met Lani," he offers, and perhaps it seems random to do so, but he continues with, "She is the closest friend I have. The first person I let… get close. The first person I trusted with…" but he's not sure how to finish that, and so lets it trail off in order to say, "But you… you… " and then a moment of frustration, that he can't seem to order the words to properly convey his thoughts. "I would be devastated to lose /you/."

Guilt. The emotion is immediate and almost strong enough to rob the tailor of breath. Watching R'sner's face, he fights the urge to flinch, or worse, to simply breakdown in tears. Instead, he tightens his grip on the rider's hips. Still, he doesn't interupt, listening to what is said until the last is uttered. "That's not going to happen," he states emphatically. But there is an undeniable sense of relief that comes with hearing it said out loud. "This isn't what…" He doesn't want declarations born from his insecurity. Drawing in a slow breath, he trails off for a few moments, dark eyes sweeping down to stare at the patio floor. After a few moments of struggling with what to say, he steps in closer, needing the contact. "Tell me more about your Weyrlings will be learning," he whispers.

And truly, R'sner was not afraid that it would. But perhaps a bit of healthy fear is appropriate. It cannot be fair for Nassir to assume that their relationship was one-sided, when Res had the ability to enlighten him as to the contrary. But what he's already said is… all he is going to say on the matter for now. That it was enough is a relief. "I know," murmured for that unfinished sentence. "But it is no less true." And now that he's said it, he's finding it remarkably easier to admit to himself, and undoubtedly it would be easier to say again. His hands slide from cheeks to neck, fingers briefly curled before he's sliding his arms around shoulders instead as Nassir moves closer. "Ah… alright." But it will be a moment before he continues; one hand drifting across the tailor's back in a manner meant to be soothing. "Right now… they are learning about wing formations. The different ways in which dragons would fly to meet thread, based upon the condition of the fall. It is more historical than practical knowledge, but important nonetheless. Soon enough, they will be practicing some of those drills on the ground and in the air," even if they are no longer necessary. "History and politics are the other… key areas of study right now; while the dragons are still young enough to spend a good portion of their time sleeping." He really could keep rambling, but there's a duck of his head and an inquisitive look as he wonders, "Is there a topic you're… interested in?"

Nassir relaxes immediately as he's drawn in to that embrace, his grip loosening to a degree that is less clinging and more comfortably possessive. He's listening, though, that much is clear from the upward sweep of lash and faint tilt of his head. "How long will they be sleeping most of the time?" He asks curiously. And, right on the heels of the first question, he thinks of another. "You said that the dragons can feel strong emotion. Do the weyrlings pick that up from them, as well?" In the wake of the question, he glances back across the field before turning his gaze up to R'sner's face. "Oh. When Leirith was visiting Igen, I could hear her. I thought…. I thought that that didn't happen?" It was more then a little confusing, truth be told. "And are they always that loud?" Leirith was VERY loud.

"Their entire lives," is the quick and somewhat playful answer, proving well enough that R'sner is back to himself, tension easing and relaxation once more setting in as he guides them back over to the chair he'd abandoned. "But truthfully… it will not be much longer before they are on a normal sleep pattern. Some of them are already more awake than others. Jovianth, for example." The wrap of his arms lessens only as long as it takes him to sit once more, and with the immediate assumption that Nassir will be joining him, they are curled around to hold the tailor close once again. "Yes," for strong emotions. "It is why… It is why mating flights affect riders the way that they do. The strongest emotions will always affect both dragon and rider. Weyrlings simply need practice before they can… handle it gracefully." A drift of fingers against Nassir's shoulder, absentmindedly, though it stops when the turn of his head brings his attention down to meet that gaze. "Leirith is… unique." Which is an understatement of great proportions. "Most dragons only talk to their riders. She is… different. She speaks to whomever she wishes." To everyone, everywhere. "There is a bronze here that does the same. The Weyrleader's bronze, actually." As for loud? There's a bit of a grin; a gentle upturn to the corners of his mouth. "Yes and no. Leirith is…" unique. He already said that, though. "Especially loud. It is her personality. Not all dragons are so loud, at least I assume so. Toith is not loud, to me," he offers as example.

Nassir is slipping into R'sner's lap almost before he has finished sitting. Twisting, he settles astride the rider, his arms draping over his shoulders. "So, when will they…" Trailing off, his wrist gives a flourishing twist. "Rise for their first time? The Weyrlings, I mean. And what happens with the male Weyrlings if a green goes up while they are still training?" Pausing a beat, his head tilts mildly, one brow twitching as he lightly clears his throat. "So… Toith is aware of when we are.. occupied?" Clearly he finds that amusing, his gaze flicking toward the field. Rather then comment further, he exhales a quiet chuckle, fingers lacing at the nape of R'sner's neck. "I liked Leirith," he admits. "Despite the sand and slobber. Course, that might have something to do with her love of hats." And he fully intends on making her hat as soon as he possibly can. The thought of it tickles him to no end. Still, he has questions about mating flights, a few moments spent nibbling at his lip before he finally comes out with, "What is it like for you, when Toith rises?"

"The males? Usually just after a turn or so. I am not quite sure what you're asking as far as what happens if they are still in training…" so R'sner will go with what he feels is a likely assumption. "There is no restriction on sex once the dragons are mature. And I have never had a weyrling dragon abandon a lesson to chase a green…" so it is either not a thing that happens, or at least it has not happened to him. "Males can sometimes be compelled away from chasing, if the rider exercises enough control or has a worthy reason for grounding them. Health and safety. Duty or obligation, for example." A flicker of a grin, an expression that is becoming more and more frequent as he relaxes, and he offers, "Yes. She is well aware of when we are occupied," though he'll offer no more insight than that. A softer "mm," for Leirith, which is not disinterest so much as Res not having much to contribute. He does not know her, but there is another subtle smile for Nassir in his admittance to liking her. "Why am I not surprised that you adore hats?" It's rhetorical for sure, and comes with a little tug of some loose hair hanging down at the side of Nassir's face. It is the lip-nibble-inducing question that brings him pause, consideration given to the tailor in his lap before he's glancing toward the green in question. "It is… Well. It is overwhelming." And apparently, difficult to describe as he soon lapses into a quiet consideration for how to continue. "I am not /me/ when she rises. While she is on the ground, I have my wits about me and I can influence her to a degree, but as soon as she is in the air… I am not me anymore. I become Toith. I see what she sees, I feel what she feels, and I want what she wants."

Nassir exhales a wry laugh at the confirmation that Toith is aware of when they are engaged, his head giving a bemused shake. It is the comment on hats, however, that has him flashing a pleased smile. "I got out of the habit of wearing them," he admits. "But I have trunk full of nothing but various types of hats. It is the rest that has him turning serious, dark eyes studying R'sner's face. "It sounds primal," he decides. "Primal suits you," is added with a light draw of blunt nails over warm flesh. Having run out of questions, at least for the moment, he shifts in R'sner's lap, nestling against his chest as he tucks his face against the length of his throat. "I could sleep right here," he admits with a quiet laugh.

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