No Expectations

Participants:

D'lan.jpg Maura.jpg

Date: 2011.06.06
Location: EW - Maura's Weyr
Synopsis: D’lan stops by Maura’s place to make right with her and…ends up making out with her. Again. Bad D’lan, no biscuit!
Rating: PG18 - For language & adult innuendo
Logger: D'lan

Having not much choice but to head back to her weyr the next day rather than just staying in the resident barracks like a big wimp, a Maura with still wet hair and fresh set of leathers finds herself seated at her table. She has yet to move her own half-empty bottle of wine, so it sits there in front of her like a constant reminder – the glass that some of it was in is, well, somewhere in the room and broken. She’s scribbling something on a few sheets of writing hide, as if trying to reason something out. Though, not being successful in part due to a fitful night of rest that shows in smudges of color under her eyes. Rikath sleeps, at least for the moment.

D’lan is a lot of things but coward he is not. Thus it is that despite the fact that he risks firstly Rikath taking a bite out of him and secondly, Maura shoving him off the ledge, he is stubbornly determined to carry through on the statement made to P’sec the night before.

With Rukbat setting low in the west and streaking the sky in hues of purple and gold, Wyncrath lands with his customary THWUMP, except this time he’s careful to land as far away from the snoozing blue as possible. Dismounting and then extracting two bottles from the sack attached to the brown’s side, the one Maura had given him, and the other a very expensive blend contained in a deep purple bottle, D’lan hesitates a moment, a frown pursing his lips together for the type of reception he’s likely to get. “Maura,” sliiide a look to Rikath, “can you come out here a moment?’ The cultured tones and rich timbre of his voice likely giving his identity away, that is if the blue hasn’t already.

“You can just drop off the bottle and leave. You’re good at that.” Maura’s assuming that he’s there to return a now empty bottle as requested, of course. And she recognized the voice right away obviously. The dig she makes may be a little acid-dipped. Nevertheless, she doesn’t show her face. Rikath does though! Lidded eyes slowly open, and the blue swivels his head to land on Wyncrath and D’lan with an entirely unmoved gaze. There’s no outward sign of what he’s thinking, but perhaps worrisome is that he makes not a sound at all. No snarky comments, no veiled threats. He just stares with that permanently menacing expression.

D’lan lets out a sigh. Yeah, he’d deserved that. A glance goes the way of the blue as he comes to life and it’s to him that the brownrider next addresses himself. “Okay fine, I’m an ass,” no kidding, “but I’m going in there to apologize whether you like it or not.” And with that he simply moseys on in, stopping just inside Maura’s weyr and folding his arms across his chest, a bottle dangling from each hand. “Dear Diary, D’lan is an insufferable prick. I’m hoping that he develops a tear in his leathers and that Thread eats him alive from the crotch upward.” Such is his sardonically spoken words on what it is that the bluerider might be writing.

Well now, Rikath stirs enough to project a response. But, it’s an image of D’lan tumbling off the ledge and down onto the bowl with a nice wet crunching sound. « He makes her cry again and I’ll do it. Just watch me. » He tail whips around viciously, snapping around himself in a protective curl. None of this is shown to Maura however, who hasn’t a clue the gory imagery being thrown around. “Actually, I asked P’sec to rip out your spleen and feed it to you. But I knew he wouldn’t go through with it, which is why I said it. Case, you know… unlike you, I actually care.” Ohhh yeah, still bitter. Her tone is chilly to say the least, and the expression carefully blank when she glances up just to have her eyes narrow on the dangling bottles. “So does this make me a 4 mark whore instead of a 2 mark one? I’m sure you realize I can’t be bought.” She bites out, lowering her eyes again when they start to water. “Just go away.”

Not usually one to be arsed about much at all, its imagery and threats like that against his rider that has Wyncrath in a rare display, tossing aside the mantle of somnolence he wears so well and displaying the dark streak that runs through him in a display of bared teeth and low threatening rumble sent Rikath’s way. And then his head jerks the way of the inner weyr at some or other silent command sent by his rider, « Tryyyy iiiit. » Words hissing through in an entirely Slytherin tone of warning and then the brown settles back down again, whipcord tail lashing back and forth with contained agitation.

Humour, however sardonic or ill placed it might have been drops off with a thud at Maura’s return. D’lan’s jaw tightens briefly but he stands his ground, piercing blue eyes flashing with the retort that springs up instantly in response. A heavy sigh and arms unfold, the brownrider venturing enough steps closer so as to be able to put the bottles down on the table and then his hands lift in a beckoning gesture, “You want to hit me? Want to try and hurt me in return? I get that, but don’t…” and here his tone drops to deadly quiet levels, equivocal to the space in time before a feline launches itself at unwitting prey, “put words in my mouth or dare to presume you know how I view you.” And no, he’s not going anywhere but instead stays right where he is, hands held away from his sides and offering Maura open season on decking him.

“So it’s alright for you to leave me standing there like I don’t matter. But, not alright for me to assume what it means?” Maura doesn’t even look tempted to hit the brownrider. She just looks forlorn, dropping a quill back into ink and running her hands through her hair in a gesture of mute frustration. “For fuck’s sake, D’lan. I wasn’t trying to take more from you then I thought you’d be willing to give, you know. I just wanted a pleasant morning. And, you know, it occurred to me that a few more nights like the one we had wouldn’t be so bad. I enjoy spending time with you. Whatever woulda happened from there, I had no expectations. But you…” Pinching the bridge of her nose, she holds up her hand next in a gesture to stop. “I’m not going to hit you, or deck you, or kick you, or whatever. I won’t. So just stop. Go ahead, sit down. Say what you wanna say.”

D’lan has up until this point, kept his language under control but now it starts to unravel. “Faranth’s fucking arse! It had nothing to do with you,” oh niiiice, “It was…it was,” and here the usually eloquent brownrider starting to stumble over his words, takes to pacing. He who keeps his cards very close to his chest clearly uncomfortable with revealing any of them. “You reminded me of someone,” comes out low after some moments of silence, “and it spooked the shit out of me. And then P’sec came over and,” it all went Between in a handbasket, basically. It’s that forlorn look on Maura’s face that stops the pacing and draws D’lan over to her with a chagrined look in place, having already said what he was going to say. Hunkering down in front of her where she sits instead of taking a seat as told to, he’s quiet another few moments and then a smile tilts one side of his mouth up, “I enjoy spending time with you too, Maura.”

Maura squints a little at first there. Had nothing to do with her? Say what? Her lips part as if she’s about to say something, but instinct tells her to keep it quiet for a moment. An intuition that rewards her with a small but significant piece of information that leaves her brow furrowed. “I’m… sorry. If you want to talk about it…” her voice trails off. And then they both just sit there for a moment. Well, she sits and he hunkers, but close enough. She can’t quite resist the urge to brush some hair away from his forehead and return the smile, however weak it might be. “You want to tell me where that leaves us, then? I’m a little confused I think. But I’m here, and I’m listening.”

When Maura very sweetly offers to lend D’lan an ear, his expression closes for no matter how well intentioned her offer might be, there are things he’s not likely to ever talk about. There does however come a smile when she fusses with his hair and then broad shoulders lift and fall in an easygoing shrug to her latter. “I don’t know, Maura. I’m not exactly the settling kind, you know?” at least he can be honest about that. Quiet another moment or two and then the brownrider reaches for one of her hands and will lift it to brush lips across its back if allowed, “Friends as a start?” Hope riding through his expression.

“I think just about everyone knows that.” Maura points out, her smile turning a bit wry when he mentions not being the settling kind. “And I’ll still be here to talk if you ever want to. Just.. remember that. You don’t have to say anything.” She forestalls, having seen the way his expression closed up. As for the offer of friendship, she doesn’t attempt to pull her hand away. Just, sort of tilts her head and gives D’lan a quick nod. “I’d have thought that was a given. Of course, friends.”

D’lan at least has the grace to look a little sheepish in the face of her return, a short chuckle following it. “Yeah well, haven’t met a woman who knows how to crack a whip properly,” that his horrendously wicked response. “Mmm,” the brownrider responds with as he slowly unfolds to his full height, “There’s friends, and there’s…friends,” pausing so that she intentionally gets the wrong idea and then adding, “Rule number one,” lifting up his half empty bottle of wine that she’d given him a night or so back, “never leave a bottle half empty. Finish it.” Grin.

“Maybe you don’t know all of my skills yet.” Is Maura’s equally inappropriate reply, lips curving in restored humor. A smile that grows a fraction at the emphasis put on friends, and accompanied by a swiftly warming gaze. “I can go with that.” She muses, then looking at all the bottles of alcohol that now litter her table. “Rule number one sounds exceptionally easy to follow. Does it require drinking out of a glass though?” Cause, she broke a couple, remember. “I’m sure we can be creative if you don’t like to drink straight from the bottle.”

A brow goes up at her return and forgive him but D’lan’s a little sceptical that Maura really understands to what he’d been referring so he utters a rumbling, “Mmhm,” in return. “Out of a glass,” he asks, feigning shock as he uncorks the half-empty bottle of red and lifts it his lips. Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows, the brownrider grins, “Shards no.” As just demonstrated and then holds it out to Maura, interest peaking through amusement, “Get creative, hmm?” Blue eyes stroke a telling look over her. Oh dear, he we go again.

One of these days…. but not today. Maura only looks mildly less angelic then she did a few days ago. And if he has no qualms about drinking straight out of the bottle then she’ll do her best not to look at all guilty when it’s passed over to her and she does the same. Rather than give it back once D’lan catches on, she stands up with what’s left of the bottle, and beckons him a little closer. “Interested in finding out what I had in mind?” Of course, the bottle is held behind her back while she waits, with a raised eyebrow. She knows that look.

D’lan’s hand lifts as if to reach for the bottle and then its being hidden from him and a slow, sly grin creases the sides of his mouth. That hand, rather than fall back to his side, instead reaches for her chin and if Maura allows, tips it gently upward, “Are you going to sic P’sec on me again?” And somehow, he manages to make to that sound like a seductive reply in the affirmative to her question.

“I’ll totally call off the spleen removal.” Maura assures, fully knowing that wasn’t exactly what D’lan was referring to. She can match his grin with one of her own too, even as her pulse skips a beat there and she’s forced to look up. “No, no I wouldn’t sic anyone on you. I think we’ve reached a fine understanding don’t you?” she adds a second later, dangerously close to devolving into babble. It prompts her to pull the bottle back out from behind her to hold up in a dangling manner. “Last call, D’lan. You want it?” It, obviously, has more than one meaning if her expression is any indication.

“Too kind,” D’lan gives in return, tone distracted. “Mmm, very fine indeed,” less about the understanding reached between them and more about the woman currently taunting him with her…wine. Blue eyes follow that bottle up and then sliiiide on down. “Oooh yeah,” that same purring tone from before is used with the brownrider fitting an arm about the bluerider and drawing her in close against himself, “Want to show me just how creative you can get?” challenge set into his suggestively low held tone.

What woman wouldn’t easily get used to that sort of appreciation? “That’s what I thought.” Maura murmurs back in a husky voice, one arm wrapped up about the brownrider’s shoulder. “I was hoping you’d ask.” And so with bottle in one hand and the other free, she pushes him back towards a chair. “Have a seat.” She suggests, an altogether wicked smile appearing once he’s seated and she’s straddling him on the chair, voice dropped to a whisper against his ear. “I think I might just surprise you.” And this time, there better be no visitors in the damn morning!


Theme Song: Queen - Friends Will Be Friends

P.S. - D'lan doesn't even know what biscuits taste like, so don't bother feeling sorry for him! Love, Maura-Player.


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