Bite of Love (R'wign)

[Requiem]

Antiseptic. Still didn't like this much, but he'd produced the blade for the simple reason that it had never been used before and never would be used again - no chance of nicks that he couldn't see or even the slightest dulling of the blade. Still, he'd tested it thoroughly, just in case. The wash wouldn't corrode the steel...he'd actually asked Kalierre about that one, braving the odd looks from the dragonhealer.

He'd changed into a sleeveless tunic to avoid the blood getting into the few clothes he still owned that weren't getting small on him, donning cut-offs he'd made out of the trousers that had become too short in the legs last time he grew. Of course, the recent growth had stretched an already small waist, and the pants hung low on his hips, but it was unlikely that R'wign would protest such. They were alone, in their weyr, after all. Reaching over to stroke Sneak gently where the striped flitter laid curled against his knee, M'ta glanced toward the bathing room again.

Keeping his volume down so as not to wake Teri, he called to the man inside, "You're going to want to wash after anyway; can do your hair then. Hurry it up, won't you?" Before he changed his mind, which was becoming more likely by the second. He didn't like going back on his word, but honestly? Cut vine patterns into his weyrmate's side? If he wasn't so certain that R'wign would find someone else to do it if he didn't and likely get himself all messed up (organs weren't far from flanks, right?) then M'ta wouldn't have agreed to the insanity in the first place. Tch. His weyrmate hardly needed decoration; he was gorgeous with no extra help. Pink hair and all. It was surprising how much it suited the healer...or perhaps M'ta was just used to it now and his affection for the man didn't register anything as distasteful.

Other than cutting him, of course. But, dutiful weyrmate that he was, look at what he was setting out to do right now? "I'm gonna change my mind if you don't get your ass in here," he muttered aloud, and it strangely calmed him to speak the words into the air.

His hair gathered back tightly at the nape and PMS bouncing on his shoulder, catching on to the air of 'otherness' despite not knowing what it was that was going on, M'ta scowled into the bathing room. What was taking R'wign so long? He stood with an irritated sniff, gathering up Sneak almost as an afterthought, and entered into the bathing room, leaning against the doorjam. "R'wign." Soft though the name was, it was delivered in a hard tone. M'ta was bothered and as such his tension was coming out. "Are you coming or aren't you?"

[glamourie]

“Patience, lover, is a virtue,” came the answer from within the bathing caverns. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were worried. Here I was thinking you would enjoy the chance to have me helpless, naked and at your mercy for an extended period of time.” If silk could be turned into voices, his would’ve been. There was no loudness to it at all and none was needed; the slight purr in his speaking carried, he was sure. R’wign rarely was a loud entity. Talkative, yes, but loud, no. He just didn’t function that way. It wasn’t like their weyr was a particularly loud place most of the time anyway – aside from when the baby was squalling. She was loud. She had a right to be though – the only female human in the weyr got dibs on being the loudest. Naturally.

Brushing a long strand of pink from his face, R’wign leaned forward and examined his appearance in the mirror he’d brought in solely for the sake of managing the cutting he’d kinda-sorta swindled M’ta into doing. He’d have to watch the healing closely and the location – his side – would be easier monitored with a mirror of some kind. Having access to the mirror, though, led to many of his insecurities resurfacing and R’wign slowly pushed the eyepatch away from his left eye – or rather, the hole where it should’ve been. His face fell and he brought one hand up to touch his cheekbone, just beneath the spot. His stomach twisted into an unpleasant knot and he quickly pushed the patch back over it – covering it from view. Part of him was highly unnerved by the sight – most of him wasn’t, but sometimes he found himself wondering how M’ta could find him even remotely attractive. He always kept the eye patch on when he was around his weyrmate for a reason. Alone, it actually didn’t bother him. He just couldn't handle the idea of being rejected – for any reason.

Muttering to himself something incoherent, the healer gripped his towel and carefully finished drying his damp pink and blue hair (ha, he wasn’t messing with it!) before dropping the wet fabric to the ground unceremoniously. The movement into the doorway made him turn his head – M’ta arriving just as he put on his robe, and it wasn’t even properly tied yet. His eyebrows rose curiously before he cocked his head to the side.

“So impatient. I have to make sure that I look exceptional for you if I’m going to be laying around naked for a few candlemarks,” he said teasingly, one hand coming up to brush against M’ta’s jawline. No one ever said R’wign was innocent. Far, far from. Okay, R’wign probably had said it but – no one listened to his random claims anyway. “I was making sure that I was properly washed, if you must know; I don’t want to risk infection. Where do you want me to lay down at, hm?” He stepped forward enough to press himself against M’ta – intentionally teasing – and smiled. “You’re so cute when you fuss, you know. You remind me of Grouch. Anyway, I had to make sure the pattern didn’t smudge, so I had to avoid soaking. Really, you’re so fussy.” He crinkled his nose and turned to stalk out of the bathroom, his gaze passing over the weyr. Where was ideal to sprawl out? His mind answered ‘weyrledge’ – but he knew very well that M’ta would not approve of that. Mustn’t needle the weyrmate too much. He’d welch otherwise.

The motley crew of pets looking to R’wign were scattered around the weyr – most sitting and curiously watching the pair of brownriders. Vex, on the other hand, was perched on the headboard and, being the helpful entity she was, offered the suggestion of, Long table by sleeping-place? The green salamandyr stood up on her hind legs and frilled curiously before leaping off. She ran over to the cocktail table and flared her frill again in explanation, earning a wry smirk from R’wign. “You’re starting to be useful, Vex. I approve.”

[Requiem]

Oops. Perhaps just a tad early, but he didn’t retreat. Not quite that shy anymore. He let his eyes trail down his weyrmate for a moment, the barest of smirks tugging at the corner of his mouth. At least one of them looked good. He looked like he’d just randomly lopped off the sleeves and legs of everything he owned on a whim. “Not necessary, and you know it.” Appreciating R’wign was a full-time hobby, after all…newly washed or covered in mud and wearing the infirmary as a cocktail of scents.

“Eh…” Answer truncated by a weyrmate pressed against him. There was some place he’d meant to do this but…where was it again? Frowning in confusion, the expression narrowed into one of mild annoyance. Though only mild; he liked Grouch rather more than he was likely to admit. “Can’t imagine why I’d be fussy,” he stated, deadpan. “You and your determination to cut patterns into your skin. Deep enough to scar. On your side. No, can’t imagine why I’d ever be fussy about that.” Which was all he planned to say on the subject, really. They’d been over this before, after all. Multiple times. In fact, it was almost like falling back into well-worn grooves, this conversation, which was good because M’ta was distracted enough that searching for appropriate words would have been a tad difficult.

“Yeah, now she’s helpful,” M’ta muttered at R’wign’s back, gathering up the old clothing he’d grown out of and spreading it thickly over the table to catch the blood so the wood wouldn’t be ruined. His shirts all tended to be soft in one form or another, as he was a bit too tactile to like anything coarse, especially as tight as he tended to wear clothing; it would rub his skin raw. The smaller of the brownriders tugged over a smaller table, arranging the three bowls he’d already prepared on top of it along with a cloth. A brow rose at his weyrmate.

“Well then, hop up, if we’re going to do this.” There was a touch of hope in his voice suggesting that he’d really like R’wign to say they weren’t. It didn’t bother him to the point that he was upset about it, but worried? Sure. He had the hands for it. But his intricate work was with wood, not people. When he cut people he meant for them to die – or at least stay down. This whole thing was a bit weird to M’ta. “You really want vines down your side?” he questioned quietly. Yes, yes R’wign did. For whatever reason. Maybe the same one that inspired the sudden influx of piercings. M’ta liked how he looked. A lot. This wouldn’t change that, but that was kind of the point. This wouldn’t change anything.

[glamourie]

It was tempting to make a teasing remark – did he know it, hmm? – but most of his commentary was restrained. It was going to be hard enough to lay naked and not want to touch, and teasing was going to make it worse. He also strongly suspected that M’ta was not going to make it easy on him. He wouldn’t, in his weyrmate’s position. Evil was kind of R’wign’s middle name. So no baiting, beyond the things he couldn’t stop himself from doing (like standing just a little bit too close, touching just a little too lingeringly, eyes roaming a little too freely…); he’d be good (for the first time in his life). Or at least, he’d be ‘decent’; good might’ve been beyond the realm of reasonable expectation for R’wign, particularly when he found himself letting one hand come up to stroke over M’ta’s jaw as he spoke. The touch lasted only a few seconds before he ambled over toward the cocktail table and it was a good thing that M’ta was behind him, because the eyerolling was nearly impossible to miss – only one eye or not. They’d already had this fight more than once. It was pointless to keep bickering on it. It was.

“Yes, M’ta, I really want vines on my side,” he said, voice ‘patient’ enough that it was obvious he was losing his patience. “My offer to let someone else do it still stands, if you’re that squeamish. Just say the word.”

He wouldn’t. If M’ta wasn’t willing to do it, R’wign wouldn’t let anyone. There were a few different reasons that he wanted the cutting done. First and foremost, he felt better about himself after changing things – like the piercings, the hair – but that was only part of it. He had an odd, almost scientific way of admiring the way the human body healed – and he knew he scarred beautifully. The lines of feline scars on the one side of his torso were enough to show that. Part of him wanted to admire the way that his body fixed itself… because it would be fixable. Then another part of him genuinely got off on controlled pain. It was a strange fetish, but… he liked the illusion of danger when there wasn’t any really, and he liked the rush that came with it. M’ta was the only person he’d trust enough to do that to him though – which in and of itself was a rush, but not if it was something that upset his weyrmate so much. He’d do without. He just… didn’t want to admit to M’ta those reasons because it seemed strange to say that moderate amounts of pain made him feel more alive.

Both hands lifted and R’wign pushed the robe off his shoulders unceremoniously; he’d really only put it on because he wasn’t sure how far M’ta would want him to go but the cocktail table was fine with him. The healer climbed unceremoniously onto the table, with care to avoid moving the shirts (he was slightly concerned at M’ta using his shirts, but he’d noticed they weren’t fitting so – maybe next Gather he’d have to buy him new things; he was pretty good at sizing people up). He lounged out on the side marred by feline scars, presenting the tangled network of vine patterns on his side. It started just under his ribcage and spanned over his hip, and literally looked like leafy vines. There were really only two strands but they wove in and out of each other, so it would look like more. Not terribly complicated, but he thought it was nice. One arm stretched out under his head to make himself comfortable and R’wign closed his eye.

“Oh, and now you don’t like her? You liked her fine before,” he tacked on, as Vex leapt up onto the bend of his neck. The salamandyr nestled into the crook of his shoulder and cooed at R’wign – totally ignoring M’ta. The surge of affection he got from her was alarming; he bent his arm up to stroke her – tentatively – and snorted. “You worry entirely too much. Even Checkoth frets less than you, and he likes to fret.”

[Requiem]

Yes. He wanted the vines. Okay, okay, okay. Whatever. Strange as he found it to take a knife to his own weyrmate...yes, he did find it strange, given what he usually did with these blades, unsettling even...R'wign was right. He'd cut, they'd scar, and that would be the end of it. M'ta trusted his hands, and that R'wign trusted him did hold some appeal. He just wished it didn't involve blooding him for no reason other than to make patterns. But then, M'ta's tolerance for things designed to enhance or change appearance wasn't terribly high. He associated it with his last turns in Bitra, for better or worse, and it was unlikely that he'd ever really understand anyone who went out of their way to do so.

"Putting words in my mouth," he commented with no acid whatsoever, his eyes following the line of R'wign's body casually. It put him in mind of a carving he'd started a month back, one that was progressing slowly due to looking after an infant and beginning to help R'wign out at the infirmary in the afternoons. A small smirk touched his lips. Gorgeous man, certainly, but the appreciation in the look was more aesthetic than anything else at the moment. If it didn't involve cutting the pattern would be a nice contribution. Okay, admit it, the vines accented his figure beautifully anyway. Just was going to have to ignore the rest and keep in mind the end result.

The end result being a side even more sensitive to his touch.

Wrinkling his nose in mild irritation, M'ta's hand lightly traced a line partially down R'wign's side, his fingers barely brushing the skin. He wiped the blade with the soft cloth to remove any excess moisture, holding it there for a long moment, so that the warmth of his hand through the cloth would keep the metal from being too cold and causing his weyrmate to jump or twitch. Pondering for a moment, he pushed the smaller table up flush with the one R'wign lounged on and climbed up himself, straddling his weyrmate's hips for a better angle. "Yeah. I know. And I'll have an ulcer before I'm thirty; you told me already." He placed a hand on R'wign's side firmly, just below where the pattern started, settling himself more comfortably before lying the flat of the blade against him, again to prevent twitching.

"Living piece of art. I should carve my name into your arse as a signature," he commented teasingly, making the first cut steadily, a bit quick, but then, he had very sure hands, did the brownrider who still carved quite often. Lifting the blade at the end of the first curve before it edged off, he stared at the dripping blood for a moment, wiping it off on R'wign's arm before sponging up the excess from the first stroke and dousing the blade in antiseptic again. Couldn't hurt to be too careful. His thumb massaged his weyrmate's side, and he lined the blade up for the second cut. "I may have a thing for the smell of blood," he commented quietly, his initial reservations all but gone. There was something faintly...revitalizing about the copper tang he could already taste on his tongue.

[glamourie]

It was highly tempting to make a comment about what he’d like to be putting in M’ta’s mouth… but that would not only be wildly inappropriate, but also likely detrimental to his cause: best to be good and not distract his weyrmate too much. After all, he was holding a knife with the intention of cutting up his side. Being a tease at the moment was probably not the wisest course of action, no matter how fun it would’ve been. Of course, his decision to be fair was apparently not one that was mirrored in his weyrmate and R’wign resisted the urge to turn back to look at M’ta with a scowl. Oh, he’d claim that pinning him down was necessity, R’wign was sure. But he wasn’t a fool, and he knew very well when he was being teased. He responded by not responding at all – he wasn’t about to give any indication of how much he liked the contact. His eye fell closed and he relaxed as much as possible. If he didn’t see it, he wouldn’t be tempted to move his hands and glide them over M’ta’s thighs – touch, touch, touch…

The cool blade against his skin was enough to jolt his mind back to reality, to keep him in the real world and not wandering off into his own lewd little thoughts. He didn’t open his eye; he didn’t know if he wanted to. The next statement, though, drew a wide enough smile from his face that R’wign’s amusement was obvious. Living piece of art. He kind of liked that. He hadn’t really thought of himself as attractive enough to be artwork, but he supposed it qualified – and ow; he hadn’t expected the knife penetrating his skin, even though he knew it was coming. He kept himself from hissing outright, but the smile faded for a split second as his mind jolted back. Right. Adjust. Get used to it. He’d asked for it and he’d definitely had worse. It’d be pretty in the end anyway. And… maybe he liked pain a little bit. Not nearly as much as some – but he was okay with it enough that he didn’t flinch or recoil away. But he did have to console Checkoth, who still was not okay with him getting cut up, even if he wanted it. Silly fussing dragon.

“I think I prefer your other methods of marking me, M’ta, if it’s all the same to you. If you cut into my backside, how am I supposed to sit? Or lay on my back? It’d be very uncomfortable and you would not enjoy that half as much as you’d like to think, I promise you that,” R’wign teased lightly… but he was boggled to find that, internally, he didn’t mind the prospect of M’ta marking him all that bothersome. He had trouble imagining himself as ever getting over his weyrmate, after all. If for some reason they didn’t end up together indefinitely – no. He didn’t want to think about that, so he simply refused to do so. He had better things to be spending his time on, thanks very much. “Stick with marking me with your mouth. We both enjoy that.”

The rest of M’ta’s statement wasn’t lost on him, and R’wign couldn’t help but smile despite the stinging on his side. He strongly suspected that his weyrmate’s interest had absolutely nothing to do with the blood, as evidenced by his disinterest in the infirmary and anything relating to it (R’wign wasn’t unobservant: he bathed after shifts for a reason). He had sense, though, and for that reason, R’wign kept his mouth shut about that thought. No sense bickering.

“I sure hope you don’t,” he purred pleasantly to M’ta. “Have a thing for blood, I mean. What with me being kind of stuck staying put here on the table… that would be really rough on you. I’d almost feel sorry for you. Almost. I don’t want you rushing with that knife just because you can’t wait to get undressed and join me here on the table.” The light suggestive tone in his voice hinted that maybe he meant the exact opposite of his words. Teasing – he couldn’t stop himself even if he wanted. He was trying to be good. M’ta just made it so difficult~

[Requiem]

The smile faded slightly, but he didn't look...more than just a little physically uncomfortable, so M'ta didn't stop. At least he knew it wasn't too deep, which was his true concern. There were a lot of vulnerable points in a man's side...the soft, unprotected region of the body. M'ta should know. Healer he may not have been, but he knew how to take someone out quickly, and the soft meat...He turned his thoughts to something else before they could carry him too far into the dark part of his mind.

Was he being slightly wicked today? The answer was decidedly yes, because at R'wign's question, he couldn't resist. "You do have a point. What good would a R'wign be if I couldn't get him on his back?" he questioned with a touch of wryness.

Slipping into the routine that was only a slight variation from one that he knew with complete familiarity, M'ta's work sped up to a steady pace after getting past the first few stomach-tightening cuts. He didn't want to think about the last time he'd cut into a man without attempting a kill - right off. Sharding...R'wign spoke again, though, which rescued him from the downward spiral of that train of thought. He breathed out through his nose, wiping off the blade and wrinkling his nose, though his weyrmate wouldn't see that with his eye shut. So tempting to lean forward and mark him just as he'd asked. "Don't tempt me," he murmured, the suggestion in the low voice unveiled. The knife bit again to keep both of them on task.

Sharding, wicked, flaming...grr. A second later he realized he actually had growled. His eyes narrowed and, completing the cut, his arm lifted, and he brought the blade forward, wiping it on R'wign's cheek carefully. "You're distracting," he stated. Back into the antiseptic, scooting down below his hip as he began working over the bone...slower just to be a pain for that comment of R'wign's. The man well-knew how...good...M'ta's imagination was. Shardblasted weyrmate. "Sides, this'll be sore for a bit I think." Undoubtedly. He was cutting deeper than he would like to, solely to be sure it scarred up good and he didn't have to do any of it again.

[glamourie]

Making it too easy. Didn’t he know that R’wign couldn’t help himself? The more baiting he was, the more teasing he was inviting. R’wign wasn’t sure that he even wanted to try and be good. Flirting made the pain a lot more bearable. Then again, flirting with M’ta made everything in life more bearable. R’wign liked doing that. It was very hard not to reply instantly with “I can’t change who I am” (the suggestion in that phrase being that he tempted M’ta without so much as trying) but the pain in his side actually silenced him for a moment. He didn’t hiss or flinch, but it was enough to still the words on his lips… at least momentarily. His eyes closed, he inhaled (slowly) and then he opened his good eye again. Interestingly enough, it was just in time to hear the low growl that kinda-sorta flipped his switch. Which M’ta knew. He liked the growling and grumping and when M’ta was trying to be threatening – he found it adorable. And hot. Awkward.

What he didn’t find hot was the feel of the semi-warm blade and very warm blood being smeared against his cheek. The slight narrow of his eyes was more than enough to indicate that disapproval as well. He couldn’t well move to punish his weyrmate for that, but oh was he going to pay for it. “You got blood on my face,” he said with a note of suggestion in his voice that indicated that if M’ta thought he was being distracting before, he hadn’t seen anything yet. R’wign could be very distracting, thanks… and he intended to be incredibly so, since M’ta was being ornery. “You should clean it off, before it dries. I don’t think I’d look nearly as good in dried blood. It’s just not one of my switches… and since you said you liked the blood so much, I would hate to deny you…” Suggestive lilt. Yes, he was bad, no, he didn’t care. M’ta was making it too easy. He wanted to grab him and cram his tongue down his throat. Bad weyrmate.

He was right about one thing: His side would be sore for awhile. However, it was unlikely that it would be enough to distract him from wanting M’ta’s touches. There were other things they could do that didn’t involve pulling on his side, after all. “I’ve been sore before,” he tacked on lazily. He had, too. It wasn’t as if the two of them favored gentle affection all that often, and M’ta knew it. “It’s never stopped you from enjoying my touches, or me from loving yours.” His expression twisted into a wry smirk before he turned his head slightly to allow for a better look at his weyrmate. He had to admit – it was hot to have M’ta straddling him doing the cutting. It was taking all of his effort not to respond physically. “All of me but my side will work just fine. I think the two of us can manage if we try very very hard…” And maybe he emphasized hard a little too much. Maybe.

Part of his problem (and why he was unwilling to be totally behaved) was that it hurt. Bad enough to be distracting, actually. He wanted it done. He’d asked. But that didn’t take away the soreness that came with having a blade running through the sensitive skin of his side. At least M’ta was being thorough. He wasn’t sure he would be able to handle another cutting, even if he was positive he’d love the end result. Steady breathing kept him calm, even, level. No losing himself to the feeling. Distract, distract – “I don’t think you’d have agreed to do this if you thought it would keep me from your touches, anyway.” He snorted, putting a note of playfulness in his voice before adding, “I’m sorry. I just can’t behave myself with you perching there…”

[Requiem]

M'ta snorted. If it hadn't been unreasonably distracting to comply with R'wign's demand, not to mention delaying the completion of the task he still found not entirely comfortable, the brownrider probably would have just to see if he could get R'wign worked up. But it wasn't feasible, and he smirked down the swell of the man's hip, brushing his face briefly against it while cleaning the blade again. And...well, yes, it was evil, but he didn't care. He nipped his weyrmate, tossing him a towel with reasonably accurate aim. "Clean it off yourself if it bothers you."

Sharding evil man, his weyrmate. He breathed steadily through his nose to force his breathing slow, concentrating on the lines twining over R'wign's hip. This wasn't the more dangerous part, which offered some relief, but it also made it harder for him to concentrate because he wasn't worried about ripping open some rather important organ. (Couldn't seem to recall any of their names right now. Tch.) Don't scrape across the bone. There, something to concentrate on that would keep him from - imagining - too vividly. His hand held steady even if his mind seemed to be wavering.

"You know full well you argued with me constantly to get me to do this," he responded to R'wign's needling. Laying full on his weyrmate's legs, he gripped them with his thighs, squeezing briefly. "But I won't deny that if I thought it would keep me from anything, you could have argued till you were blue in the face." Not much longer. Even after wiping up the blood as he went, the man was still bleeding at a fairly steady pace. He wanted to get this finished so they could get pressure on it. From what little he understood about R'wign's condition, he didn't think blood loss was good for him - more than the average person.

Even if he was just being paranoid again, though, there was something inherently wrong about seeing his werymate covered in blood.

'Love the way you feel, how you call my name, even when you torment me with your wickedness. I've never wanted anyone as much. Never trusted anyone enough for it to come close. The thought of ever being without you terrifies me...you're my best friend and my only love that isn't tied directly to my mind. I even like it when you argue just to argue, or be an ass only to prove a point. You walk into the same room as me and I want to be touching you just to make sure you're actually real, and not something I imagined up in my loneliness, a dream that I'll wake up from in the morning." The blade ran its course smoothly, M'ta's voice soft, forcing R'wign to work to listen to what he said. His cheek lay against his thigh, to feel the pulse there, and so his weyrmate could feel him speak.

No space was given for R'wign to interject or distract him. He wanted this done. He wanted to stop cutting.

"You can make me do anything you want, anything at all...protesting the whole way, maybe, but I can't resist you. I don't even want to, unless it's for your health or simply because I'm afraid you'll grow bored if I make it too easy for you." Finally. Easing up, he cleared away the blood that had smeared across R'wign's hip to be certain that the pattern was finished, checking it all with an eye for detail, determined not to have to do this again. He never wanted to do this again. Mopping up the blood, he felt his throat tighten, letting the blade fall into the bowl and laying the soft toweling over R'wign's side. He eased on top of him, knowing it would hurt but wanting to slow the blood, and his hands were too few.

M'ta nuzzled at his weyrmate's neck, kissing his jaw affectionately, before licking away a few extra drops of blood with a small smirk. Missed a spot. "And, just so you know, any more brilliant ideas like this...a resounding no." Coiling the fingers of one hand through R'wign's, he kissed him deeply, wondering how long it would take before the bleeding stopped. Or at least slowed. "I think you wanted me to gut you. Tch. Teasing me while I had a knife in you. For someone as intelligent as our Weyrhealer, you have your stupid moments."

[glamourie]

Errr contact. R’wign bit back the urge to shiver against M’ta from the touches. Too much clothes. He wanted to protest. Sadly, they weren’t in bed so his “no pants in bed” rule didn’t apply. Needed to figure out how to enforce a “no pants in the weyr” rule. And then from there a “no pants ever” rule. Stupid pants. He wanted to feel M’ta’s skin against his own… although that was not particularly conducive to being able to think clearly or behave. His weyrmate’s touch did tend to make his mind go for a walk, even if he managed to behave more coherently than M’ta did much of the time. He faked it better, at least. The other brownrider just felt so perfect against him that it was hard not to purr in satisfaction, despite the steady ache in his side. Growing scars. Growing pain. Growing – bad thoughts. The towel tossed at his face was a good distraction and R’wign grabbed it to mop the blood up from his face. It really did feel creepy.

“You can’t even go a day without my touch. Addict.” And by touch he meant plural, usually done completely naked together, but whatever.

It was so easy to tease –and he probably would’ve gotten more dramatic with it, if not for M’ta’s next sentence being incredibly distracting in an entirely nonsexual way. He was effectively rendered silent as he turned his head to look at his weyrmate seriously. R’wign was fairly certain his heart skipped at least one beat – maybe two. He was… flattered. Ridiculously so. It was enough to definitely yank his mind off of anything lewd; he wasn’t sure he could even breathe. Those who knew him well (which numbered two) likely knew that R’wign did not like himself very much. In fact, detest was a good way to describe how he felt about himself. He wasn’t vocal about it, and he definitely didn’t seek pity or sympathy… but hearing M’ta say it was almost enough to take away that feeling entirely. For a few moments, anyway. He was continually baffled by the fact that M’ta did love him – but he didn’t doubt it, didn’t question the validity of the statement, so he supposed that was at least one step in the right direction. He didn’t understand, but he wasn’t sure that he needed to. He did believe him, anyway… and it made him giddy. Positively giddy.

As M’ta moved up to kiss him, R’wign lifted his arms and wrapped them around the other brownrider’s neck affectionately. He didn’t even have to pretend to be enthusiastic about the kiss – not that he ever did or was. M’ta didn’t have to do much to get him going, after all. His arms remained around his weyrmate, even as he broke the kiss, and the smug smile that moved over his face was wide. “I trust you completely. With my life. With my happiness. With my heart.” There was a definite edge of playfulness in his voice. “I knew you wouldn’t hurt me. At least, not in any way that I didn’t ask you to. I knew you’d be fine. And I knew you’d love the teasing, and you did and do, so I’m not apologizing.” His face brushed against M’ta’s neck, a slight shiver passing over him. “It needs to be cauterized to scar properly, or I’ll bleed too much.” He’d already told M’ta that, but he was pretty sure that his weyrmate forgot. What he hadn’t mentioned was that he’d probably be screaming when that happened. Cauterizing wounds hurt. Badly.

“There should be something for me to bite down on in the trunk. And after that’s done, I think I’m going to completely maul you.” Provided he didn’t throw up. He had a high pain tolerance but cauterizing wounds was never fun. He’d had it done to him once – once – and he’d like to never remember that, thanks. Not fun. Not fun at all.

[Requiem]

Addict, huh? R'wign had no idea. Not a clue. If M'ta could find a way to permanently attach himself to his weyrmate, he probably would have. Fortunately, the healer didn't continue.

Looking down at him, M'ta distracted himself for a moment, the words doing something to remove the faint uneasiness in the pit of his stomach. It wasn't as if R'wign didn't tell him often, that he loved him, but they were more the type to pick and bicker and tease...and the sense of belonging and feeling wanted by another human being was enough to make him nuzzle at his weyrmate's jaw in contentment.

Oh, psht. "Didn't forget," he grumbled testily. R'wign hadn't claimed he had. (Although it was true that it had slipped his mind, yes. Probably willfully. The smell of burning human flesh made him so nauseous he could barely function, and he had enough trouble dealing with all this as it was, requested by his weyrmate or no.) Cauterizing would stop the bleeding quick. It wasn't really as if he had a right to complain, anyway; R'wign was bound to be far more uncomfortable than him. Slipping away, he found leather from his own things, scraps left over from strap making, and brought some back for R'wign, pulling off the toweling as gently as he could manage and wiping the blood away again before dousing the whole area in antiseptic.

The process was very swift...partly because M'ta felt like he might lose the contents of his stomach at any moment, and partly to get it overwith. He stepped over near R'wign's head, running a hand through his hair and tugging lightly at the strap. "What do you need?" Pale - which always looked a bit weird with his skintone - M'ta showed no other outward signs of his discomfort. He didn't think it fair all things considered.

[glamourie]

The offered leather was taken without a word and R’wign neatly tugged on it to test the durability. He didn’t comment on whether or not M’ta forgot – it was pretty obvious he’d been trying to avoid the inevitable. R’wign didn’t truly blame him. It wasn’t exactly the most pleasant of things to be undergoing, but… he was positive that he’d love the end result. He liked the way the cutting itself looked, from what little he could see. The antiseptic stung, briefly, and R’wign resisted the urge to shiver. Going to get worse before it got better. M’ta’s presence was comforting – though odds were, the other brownrider had no idea of how much. He’d probably never really understand that R’wign would’ve been trembling to let anyone else actually do that, and the idea of having wounds cauterized without M’ta there was almost enough to make him vomit. Spoiled? A little. He wanted his weyrmate, craved the confidence that his touch promised, and the security that came with it; so maybe he was too sentimental, at times, for his own good.

“The metal has to be heated. Better to do it in quick two-three second bursts to avoid being overwhelmed. I’m going to bite down on the leather to avoid biting my tongue. Once it’s done, I need you to pour disinfectant on it and then we’ll bandage it up. There should be a small wooden box in my trunk – it’s got some things in it, including a fellis dosage.” He didn’t trust his own pain tolerance. He was good, but not that good, and he’d probably fall apart the second he started actually feeling pain. R’wign wasn’t a wuss, but… it took someone with a much higher tolerance than him to handle having an open wound burnt closed without wanting to vomit. “It’s a good thing I haven’t eaten today~” He clicked his tongue, and then glanced at M’ta. He was tempted to ask if his weyrmate was okay; he was pale. But he knew the answer. He knew that M’ta wasn’t okay… though he highly doubted it was the blood that bothered him. He’d seen way more before.

“Just think. Once this is all over, I won’t be going to the infirmary?” he voiced helpfully – hoping that maybe the reminder that he’d be spending the entire day with M’ta would help ease some of his anxiety. Some. He didn’t think it would, but… “You can spend the entire day telling me how much you want to strangle me. And listening to me apologize over and over. And then we can cuddle and see how well you match the red quilt.” It was kind of new; R’wign and his love of blankets. They were his favorite thing ever.

Stilling his nerves, R’wign pushed the leather strap into his mouth and lay down completely. He lifted his arms to curl his fingers around the edge of the table – he was going to need something to grip onto that wasn’t M’ta. The faster they got it all over with – the faster they could get back to cuddling. That was fun and a lot more appealing than getting burnt, necessity or otherwise. He was going to be furious if he didn’t scar nicely, too. Fortunately that wasn’t that strong of a possibility: he usually scarred very, very well. Optimism displayed at its finest.

[Requiem]

M'ta bit his lip where R'wign couldn't see it, running his fingers through his hair again before rooting out the items his weyrmate had described. Willing his hand steady as he heated the blade - the fact that it wasn't bothered him - the brownrider glanced at the Weyrhealer. The smile was only half-forced. He couldn't tell if R'wign was trying to reassure him, or himself, but either way the flood of words were enough to cause some small amount of fond amusement. "You think you can still get me to blush that red?" he asked, a hint of laughter behind the words. This time, when he climbed up to straddle the hips, he pressed down on them firmly with his left hand, winding his legs through R'wign's to lock them up.

Swallowing, he hoped his weyrmate wouldn't thrash. The heated blade touched skin, M'ta wincing at the abrupt burning smell, bile rising. He hunched over his weyrmate, following the instructions as best he could, jaw set stubbornly against the desire to flee. Counting carefully, but not giving R'wign too much time between. It would be better to finish it quickly. He told himself that, searing the open wounds closed.

He tossed the blade into a bowl of cool water, snatching up the disinfectant, his trembling so bad by this point it was all he could do to keep from sloshing it everywhere. M'ta poured it over the wounds abruptly, grateful that he'd kept it together long enough to finish as it clattered to the floor and rolled. Blinking, he sneaked his arm across his eyes, fighting rolling nausea and tears. His hand found R'wign's cheek, stroking the jaw with his thumb as he caught up the bandaging. M'ta set that beside them, running his hands up his weyrmate's arms and twining through his fingers before removing the hands from their grip on the table. "I...today and tomorrow." He eyed R'wign stubbornly.

[glamourie]

It felt like an eternity. Time was relative, yes, and when in pain, it definitely felt longer than it was. R’wign clenched his eye closed and bit down, hard, on the leather strap to avoid screaming out loud – and it was all he could do to avoid exactly that. His anxiety notwithstanding, it hurt worse than anything he’d experienced before in his life and only the fact that he knew M’ta would react beyond badly to him screaming kept him from giving in to temptation. He could tell instantly when it was over, but the searing pain didn’t diminish until the flush of cold liquid on his sides. He didn’t release the table though, gripping it firmly enough that his knuckles were pure white – a shade to match his face. Only once he felt himself being bandaged up did his vice grip even slightly loosen and from there, his hands were removed by M’ta to lace their fingers together. He relaxed ever-so-slightly and dropped the leather strap from his mouth before turning his head to the side.

Very carefully (to avoid jarring what was extremely sore), the healer turned over and wound his arms as best he could around M’ta’s waist. The position put him carefully arching off the table, in order to avoid jarring the bandages, and he rested his head against M’ta’s shoulder. Gently nuzzling his weyrmate’s neck, he brushed his lips over the smaller man’s jaw and moved, again, to be sitting with his legs underneath him. The air actually felt very cold against his skin (likely from blood loss and being in pain), so the warmth of his weyrmate’s body was welcome – encouraged. His eye was closed, and he didn’t make any effort to hide how relaxed he felt in M’ta’s arms. Complete and utter trust. Hurting, yes, hurting because he wanted to. He just hoped that his body scarred prettily, so that in the end it was worth it. And healed quickly.

“Today and tomorrow,” he agreed shakily, his lips brushing over M’ta’s neck. Realistically, it’d be several days before he could comfortably move around, but there wasn’t much to be gained from pointing that out; agreeing as if he was simply doing it to make M’ta feel better would probably go over better than trying to explain that he was attempting to be logical more than anything else. That and he didn’t feel like talking much when he was hurting so very much; it was fading but… “I’m cold now, M’ta. And I need – need syringe. Can you hand it to me please?” The fellis shot would dull the pain enough that it would be bearable, and then maybe he’d be easier to get along with. From how pale M’ta looked… he felt like he definitely needed to make it up to him. Preferably with a massive amount of affection. “I don’t suppose you’d tell me what it’ll take to make this up to you?” He nuzzled M’ta again more insistently before leaning down to lick his weyrmate’s shoulder. “You’re so pale. You look more – more bothered than I was. I’m sorry, lover.”

[Requiem]

As the arms coiled around his waist, he lifted the hands, brushing his lips over the knuckles before releasing them and wrapping his arms around R'wign as carefully as he could. Antiseptic helped mask the stench somewhat - but not entirely, and his stomach was still doing flips. He really, really didn't like that smell. Ironically, he couldn't even remember when he'd smelled it before, but it made him shakier than he'd like to admit. His hands weren't entirely steady. Some of it was it was R'wign. Okay, a lot of it was. Hurting his weyrmate wasn't high up on his list of hobbies.

"Oh." More an exhale than a word. Feeling stupid, he released R'wign long enough to lean over and collect the syringe off the table, pressing it into his weyrmate's hand.

Adjusting to wrap as much of himself around R'wign without touching anything sensitive, he ran a hand through the healer's hair, stroking him gently. "Clothes would probably help if you're cold," he commented drolly. The man's nuzzles didn't go unnoticed, a and a slight flush tinged his cheeks. Trust R'wign to call him out on it. Tch. His words came slightly thick, but he ignored that. "The smell..." And it's you. Which the healer had to already know. He really couldn't imagine his weyrmate weathering that with the situation reversed much better than he had. It just felt...wrong...

M'ta eased R'wign into his arms, lifting the healer carefully so he wouldn't have to walk using that hip, the smaller man doing his best to keep his movements smooth. His weyrmate was big enough to give him some trouble, but not so much that he couldn't manage as far as the bed; he wasn't weak by any stretch of the imagination. "Make it up to me?" Settling R'wign onto the bed, he piled blankets over him, shedding clothes and curling protectively around him again. "Don't think you can," he responded, only half joking. Shards but he still felt ill.

"You don't need to, though. Still love you, crazy," he stated quietly, nuzzling R'wign's jaw. "Make it up to me...I reserve the right to bring it up at a later date. For now, just talk to me. You know...a ridiculous amount about me but I don't know that much about you, other than the stories. Not before Selenitas, anyway."