Just...Unnatural...(Piden)

[Requiem]

Harperlove? HarperloveMine, wake, wake, please wake. Dementia no like darkness. The voice seemed distant, and strangely...inside his head. Gonna have to lay off the booze. Must have been a particularly potent strain, because he usually held his liquor quite well...curious. As he moved to pull the blanket up over his head, he became aware that the surface beneath his hip was rather...hard. There was also a warmth at his back. Elysia, no doubt. There was something off about it that didn't quite fit, but he attributed that to still being a bit drunk.

Small teeth sunk into the meat of his hand between thumb and forefinger, and he hissed, pressing back slightly against the...shards no what the hell was that? The arm draped over him tightened slightly. Far too muscular an arm to be Elysia's. A quiver ran through him as his eyes flared open, peeking past the edge of the blanket and finding...a wall. In the hall of the apartments. On the floor. In the arms of a man. No, no, spooning with a man. With his mind shocked into wakefulness, the soreness was less soreness and more actual pain. Vague recollections flitted through his mind, watching Yoalla embracing Quintrell, turning to leave. Hands, arms, thinking that he liked the touches...

A soft whimper sounded in his throat. It was a purely irrational reaction, the one that resulted in his attempting to angle his lower body away from Piden, not moving otherwise. Because if the bronzehandler didn't wake up, he wouldn't know. Wouldn't remember. Nevermind that they were out in the hall and others likely knew, considering the blanket he doubted they'd collected themselves. Someone considerate enough to cover them. Or perhaps disgusted enough to not want to have to look every time they ventured out of their apartment. Nevermind that he'd have to move eventually. That Piden would wake up on his own eventually.

Demenita coiled against his hip, licking the bone in an attempt to comfort. He could sense her confusion, which rendered her silent...likely as a result of his own confusion. Now what? Dmisk's cold presence slid through his mind. Getting up and getting dressed would be a good idea. And replacing the door. It was a tripping hazard. The boy cursed under his breath at the blue. He was in the arms of another man and Dmisk was concerned about a door?! You liked it enough while you were 'with' him, the wher pointed out. Dmitri twitched.

[Ruby]

Unfortunately for Dmitri, Piden was a fairly light sleeper. Equally unfortunately, no matter how easily he transitioned from sleep to vague consciousness, actually waking up enough to think about anything took quite a bit longer. He did remember Yosk's run, and that he hadn't won - generally, Piden retained a fairly good idea of what happened during Runs, especially when Pidesk did come out on top (something that would no doubt make Eikane incredibly uncomfortable if he ever mentioned it. He might yet). But someone warm was here, and Piden's sleep-fogged mind jumped immediately to Tira, despite the wrongness in how she fit in the curve of his body. Usually she was less... bony? Rectangular? Long? Still, sensible of him to seek her out (or whatever), and nice that she'd stayed this time. He tightened his arm, pulling her closer, snuggling in to kiss her neck. Sure, Yoalla would have been entertaining, but you couldn't win 'em all, and having Tira here was downright nice.

Until she moved away, whimpering a little. That wasn't a good sound. He let her shift, murmuring, "Did I hurt you?" as he squinted the eye closest to the floor open.

Nope.

Not Tira, that was for sure. That hair... it had to be... no. Not possible. Dmitri would NEVER let that happen, at least not if Piden was at all right about the Handler. Way too boring and straight-laced. The connection had startled his mind into gear, though, and Piden could not suppress a smirk as fragments of memory drifted in. There was Yoalla, reaching for Quintrell, drawing him into her room as the other two were forced out. And yes, Dmitri had been next to him, equally rejected. From there everything got fuzzy - someone had pushed someone up against the wall, and Piden was fairly sure he'd whacked his head pretty good on wall or floor. What an... interesting run.

Unsure what Dmitri's reaction would be, Piden decided to play along a little. Having no shame, the Bronzehandler was unconcerned about their hallway bed, so he figured he might as well take advantage of a Dmitri in his arms while he had him. It wasn't like he thought he'd be getting this chance again anytime soon, and the only thing Piden disliked about the Bluehandler was his attitude. The body was just fine, despite the scarring. So he snuggled back in, trapping Dmitri with an arm around the waist (his hand drifting lower than was strictly necessary). He kissed the side of the Harper's neck this time, biting gently and keeping his eyes carefully shut. Deniability was key, here. "What, leaving already?" he purred, deciding against tacking on 'sweet cheeks'. That would be a little much, even for him. "I think we're on the floor, but that's... easy to fix."

What an excellent situation, though. He'd have to remember to thank Yoalla. Not that he had any idea what had really happened - he just couldn't be bothered to think about it this early in the... whatever time it was. Pidesk brushed his mind with a mixture of annoyance and general amusement, cautioning him against going too far. He didn't want to have to stop a fight, and intentionally provoking Dmisk's was probably not a good idea, if the Blue Wher was any indication of his handler's probable reaction. Piden, however, wasn't worried. He didn't remember much, but what he DID remember was good, so certainly Dmitri's memories would be good, too. If Piden was talented at anything, it was that.

[Requiem]

Lips pressing against his neck - shards, the urge to scramble away was nearly overwhelming... He was weyrbred, though, and had grown up in a Hold that was more a satellite of that same weyr, more or less. And he knew better than to struggle with someone in Runlust. If...Piden still was. He didn't know. Either way, the uncertainty kept him from reacting beyond further stiffening. Hurt him? Yes, idiot, of course it hurt. Unlike bronzie there, Dmitri didn't sleep with men. Except when Dmisk was involved. Thank you Dmisk. He would have thought this particular scenario would be avoided until Dementia ran again though, at least. Settling for a grunt - yeah, it hurt, but it wasn't Piden's fault, really - Dmitri figured this answered the question of whether or not the bronzehandler was aware of himself again.

Time to leave.

Just as he began to extricate himself, however, the arm tightened around his waist and pulled him back against Piden. He hissed, partially out of soreness and partially to mask the sudden panic spiking in him. Who did Piden think he had? Dmitri, for all his height, was rather slight and Piden definitely had a good deal of mass on him (likely why they'd ended up this way rather than the other way around to begin with). Wriggling wasn't doing Dmitri much good when it came to trying to escape, and it was making things more awkward besides. He subsided, shuddering as Piden kissed his neck again.

"I'm not your toy," he growled low, unable to really turn to face the bronzehandler as they were positioned, not with the other man's face half-buried against his neck. Nausea was roiling in the pit of his stomach. "Wake the fuck up, you horny bastard," he snarled, under his breath, reaching back behind him and pinching the man's hip, then twisting. That should wake him up. He followed up the action with a dry, "You can let me go any time now. I promise it won't break my heart." Sharding Runs. Apparently having a male wher didn't entirely protect you.

[Ruby]

"Hmm? Toy?" Piden asked, resisting the urge to smirk hugely. Man, Weyrs really were Piden's natural habitat. Why had he ever left? Oh, that's right, Pilas has wanted a watchwher for the Cothold. As if a cothod warranted that much protection - Piden would have been sitting around all day with nothing nearly this fun to do. Opening both eyes in a squint, he faked incredibly convincing surprise. "You aren't Yoalla, or that hot greenrider, or... well, never mind. I guess Pidesk lost?"

As soon as the words left his mouth, though, Dmitri pinched, effectively distracting Piden from his enjoyment. With a strangled "Gah!" he pushed his assailant away, taking the blanket with him. He sat up to inspect the damage, leaning his back against one wall. "Now that was just unnecessary, I was only trying to be nice," he said, clearly teasing now. He was mostly focused on the angry red mark, though. Sure, Dmitri was sure to be angry and uncomfortable, but he had still pinched hard. In sitting up, the Bronzehandler discovered that his shirt was still on, although he'd lost pants and his undergarment trailed around one ankle. What, exactly, had they done?

Although his shirt hung long enough to mostly cover any of his more private parts, Piden decided enough was enough and pulled up his clout, leaving the shirt in its mostly unbuttoned state. Shifting to find that he was half-sitting on Dmitri's pants, he inspected the before asking innocently, "Yours? Or did we go pants-stealing mid run?" Piden's were nowhere to be seen, but he tossed the Bluehandler's over, along with the blanket, once he was decent. Piden averted his gaze and tried not to look like a feline about to eat a helpless baby herdbeast. "So... can I get you breakfast, or something?" No, he was not going to stop treating Dmitri like a willing partner, not for a long time. It was too much fun to see him squirm.

[Requiem]

No, he was not Yoalla or any hot greenrider, and he was going to assume that Piden was talking about a woman there, too, cause how many male greenriders did they have? J'on, A'emi and K'lir were the only ones he remembered, and none of them were remotely hot. (Granted, the only time men looked vaguely interesting to Dmitri was when Dementia was glowing like a mini-sun...or Nautic or Eikane when their whers were about to run. Evil mind-polluting mindmates.) You had to be pretty out of it to mistake a Dmitri for a woman, even if he wasn't a big hulking muscleman. Much of the softness to his frame had melted since becoming a wherhandler and he was a good deal more angular now. Not to mention most women didn't come in 6'4" packaging. So either Piden took an awfully long time to wake up, was a general all-around idiot, or he was messing with Dmitri.

"Yeah, well, next time don't slobber all over my neck to do it." Next time? Not if he had anything to say about it. He'd stopped his roll with an outthrust arm, sprawling on his back not far from Piden. Communal bathing made him shameless. That, and he was fairly certain that at least the subconscious part of Piden's mind was well-acquainted with his body and Dmitri was being a dick. If the bronzehandler could be made uncomfortable, all the better. That made two of them. Catching the pair of trousers one-handed, he ignored the blanket and stood, wriggling into them. His generally concealed weakness in his right arm was showing, but he didn't care if Piden saw. Anyone with half a brain, after looking at the mildly twisted limb, could have guessed as much.

Dmitri's first inclination was to curse at Piden and stalk off. Probably to find Elysia but...eh, she would be going to wingdrills soon. He eyed Piden contempatively. To think that had been pawing at him. He supposed it was better than Nautic or Eikane, though, if it had to happen. His testacles probably would have shriveled up and died if one of those fruits had gotten the better of him. "I think you owe me a lot more than breakfast, bronzie. Don't know how much Yoalla usually charges, but double it." Dementia had disappeared into his hair, confused by the unusual array of emotions, but now she was stirring again as Hers seemed to be returning to normal.

Moving forward, he caught at Piden's wrist, tugging him to his feet. "But first you need pants, unless you plan on blinding everyone we encounter. And I'm stealing one of your shirts so they don't vomit before their eyes give out. Hurry it up." He nudged Piden toward the bronzehandler's apartment. "And watch the door. Dmisk says it's a tripping hazard."

[Ruby]

Next time? Oh, that would be nice. This time Piden didn't even try to hide his evil grin, trusting that Dmitri was distracted by his pants. Not that it would matter if the Bluehandler saw; Piden obviously didn't object to the idea of 'next time', even if the only time he'd ever pursue such a thing was a time when it would embarrass Dmitri. "I'll try," the Bronzehandler offered, only half interested. Where had his pants gone? Oh, there they were - shoved half-way under the fallen door. Good. Piden did not even want to know how they had gotten there, but he'd go get them in a moment. Dmitri's arm went unnoticed; Piden had been there when the other Handler had gotten hurt, he'd always assumed there was more wrong than Dmitri was letting on. That had been a very, very bad burn.

Taking Dmitri's offered arm, Piden pulled himself to his feet, then stooped to retrieve his missing garment. "Yoalla?" he tossed over his shoulder in an off-hand manner, "She's never charged me. Said I more than earned my keep, if I remember correctly." Wrong, Red whispered, hopping down from a hidey-hole in the wall near the ceiling. She must have been there all day, Piden realized. Dmitri doesn't need to know that, though, does he? he asked, not expecting an answer. Red had a talent for picking the right word for a situation, but the Green barely ever strung more than two together. Pants, was the answer he got. Ah yes.

Pants successfully acquired, Piden grabbed Dmitri by the waist and started moving him towards his door at the end of the hall. "I think you mean before they are blinded by the pure sexiness that is our naked bodies," he claimed, his tone ambiguously smooth. Anyone not familiar with his curious form of humor wouldn't be able to tell if he was totally joking or 100% serious; in reality, it was about 50/50. "Now come on, before we run into an unsuspecting victim. I'm still getting you breakfast," he added, stretching up just slightly to plant another kiss on Dmitri's neck before darting out of arm's reach, laughing.

His apartment door was just ahead, and Piden went in first, totally disregarding the paper-covered desk and stack of books and scrolls and the half-made bed. Instead he headed for the over-sized wardrobe, taking a measuring look at Dmitri before selecting a medium blue button-down, just a shade off Harper Blue and quite complementary to the blue in his companion's eyes. "It'll probably be big in the shoulders, but it should be long enough. Here, try it. Mirror's on the back of the door," he added, tossing the shirt in Dmitri's direction and turning to the wardrobe himself. Wrinkly was not a good look.

[Requiem]

"Hm. I suppose in comparison with her former clientele..." Dmitri shrugged, letting the sentence hang for Piden to finish. He hadn't seen the grin, though it wouldn't have surprised him if he had; the bronzehandler was doing nothing whatsoever to hide his delight in the situation they'd landed themselves in. The bluehandler might have held a grudge, but eh. He was sure Piden would move on to something more interesting as soon as it showed its head, and Dmitri had little doubt that his dry comments wouldn't keep the man's attention for long.

Okay, bronzehandler as a hip attachment so not part of the game plan. He regarded the man out of the corner of his eye with enough frost to put off most people, but otherwise submitted to the arm passively. Mostly because he got the distinct impression that Piden was fishing for twitchiness and protests, and giving him what he wanted would just prolong the encounter indefinitely. "Yes. Precisely what I meant. How they can bear to face their own inadequacy on a day-to-day basis is a small miracle; seeing us nude would shatter their happy delusions for sure," he responded flatly.

More. Slobber. Man kisses, blech. He slipped his hands into his pockets and simply gave the other man a really? look. "Thought we already discussed slobbering on my neck." Clearly it was being disregarded, but whatever. That didn't keep Dmitri from restating how distasteful the sensation was to him. Nevermind that it didn't really feel all that different than a woman doing it. Of course, he would have reacted similarly to a fair number of women, as well. Most of those just didn't take such liberties. (Or likely even wanted to.)

Catching the shirt, Dmitri slipped it over his shoulders, shrugging the garment into place. Yes, a bit big in the shoulders, and only just long enough in the torso. It'd be just short of showing skin above the waistband of his pants if he reached for anything, but still better than he would have expected out of Piden's clothes. The bluehandler set to buttoning it up, then ran a hand through his short curls. Which would likely be enough to restore them to their usual half-wild look. "I'm fine with breakfast." He reached past Piden, fishing out a wine-colored shirt and trousers of a simple dark brown. "Here. I've made up your mind for you." He didn't want to spend any more time in Piden's apartment than absolutely necessary.

[Ruby]

"You do have a point," he added thoughtfully - not that he had any idea who Yoalla's other 'clients' were, but, being Piden, he assumed he was both the most attractive and the most talented. He was 90% certain she'd taken marks out of his stash herself once they were finished, but hey, who was counting? Piden spent most of his marks on clothing, the rest just languished. If he lost a few here and there, who was to know? So, as far as he was concerned, he hadn't paid Yoalla, making him probably the only male ever to hold that distinction. Yoalla may have made money off the transaction, but she'd never named a price, and Piden had not handed over the marks. So there.

But Yoalla was not his current entertainment. Somewhat surprising, Dmitri was playing along, even if his tone was about as dry and cold as possible. "I'm glad you understand," Piden agreed, his tone matching Dmitri's, just a hint of laughter around the edges. Entertaining indeed. Piden had never expected to end up sharing a bed (or floor, or whatever) with Dmitri, and clearly neither of them really knew what had gone on, but he had not imagined that Dmitri would turn out to be so much fun. He was appropriately stiff and uncomfortable while still maintaining a sense of humor. Lovely.

Speaking of a sense of humor, Dmitri's reaction to the kiss made Piden actually laugh. "Yes, we discussed slobbering. There was no slobbering involved, there. If you think there was, you may want to stop by the Healer's... or check in with what's-her-face. Hot greenrider. She might need some lessons in kissing correctly, if you call that slobbering." With an eyebrow cocked, he added, "Or you may just be as dry as you appear. Could be the problem." Someday, probably in the not too distant future, Piden was going to be punched for talking like that. Hopefully that day was not today.

Snagging the clothes Dmitri picked out of the air, Piden considered briefly, then got about his business changing, his back to his guest. "Aren't we adorable? Already dressing each other. Next, we'll be oiling each other's Whers and swapping hair tips," he drawled, settling the collar of his clean shirt in the mirror and fussing with his hair for a second before turning back to the Bluehandler. "Well, that shirt fits well, doesn't it? Considering, I mean," he added, gesturing vaguely between the two of them. They weren't exactly the same build. "Then again, it might look even better on the floor..."

[Requiem]

His face was completely neutral as he regarded Piden, then, when he spoke, his tone matched the expression perfectly. "The healers tell me I have something of a skin condition." A finger came up to rub lightly at one of the many tendrils of dead skin webbing over the right side of his face. Not knowing who the 'hot' greenrider was, and perfectly fine with deflecting the topic from kissing and slobbering in general, he had no problem making jokes - if people picked up on the fact that he was joking - at his own expense.

Adorable was a word for it. "I've only got one: keep it short." There was a touch of ruefulness there, though it wasn't particularly obvious. Lucky harpers got lucky on occasion. He had yet to figure out how he hadn't just turned into a lovely little candle. "Wouldn't oil Dmisk, though. He's taken to experimenting...what will it do if I close my jaws around its neck sort of thing. Bored." Dmitri fished in his pockets for his gloves, coming up empty with a small sigh. Probably hadn't brought them, considering he'd apparently wandered here shirtless, too. Aggravating mindmates, taking over your mind without permission. Yes, yes, he knew that Dmisk had asked politely for the door to be opened and he'd refused, but that fact wasn't conducive to his point, now was it?

"It works." Dmitri turned and headed out the door without a backward glance. "I'll be sure to remember that when I return it. Piden likes his shirts on the floor." The harper stepped gingerly over the fallen door, down the hall and out onto the ledge that ran behind the waterfall. Far too loud to merit talking while they were right behind the sheeting water. He didn't bother to look back; Piden was unlikely to let his opportunity get away, and if he did...well, that was rather win-win wasn't it? As far as the bluehandler was concerned, anyway. He wasn't quite as bad as most harpers from the Hall were rumored to be (and a rumor that was both well-deserved and probably only half as strong as the truth) when it came to homophobia, but Dmitri still found the idea of men being attracted to one another...surpassingly odd. The mechanics of acting on it alone were off-putting. At Harper Hall? It wasn't something you did to be different or rebellious...it was something you tried to purge yourself of if you felt even the inkling of an attraction. The Hall wasn't kind.

Neither was the Weyr.

Plunging into the glow-lit halls that was the Weyr proper, Dmitri continued at his sedate pace. Unlike Piden, the bluehandler didn't need much of an imagination to realize at least part of what had happened, but he didn't really want the time to analyze it. Which his brain naturally would given a moment's peace. "You're awfully slow," he commented quietly.