Sink Or Swim


Bowen.jpg Cheusia.jpg

Date: 10/16/10
Location: EW: Lakeshore
Synopsis: Another muggy afternoon and evening finds Cheusia and Bowen by the lakeshore having another one of their picnic dinners where gifts and words and promises are exchanged before the two decide to go dippin' skinny.
Rating: PG18 - Adult language and suggestive situations and smoochin' and "compromising" positions.
Logger: Bowen

Eastern Weyr: Lakeshore

With the brightest of contrasts, what once was a desolate, dry and empty scoop in the ground is now a full and luscious lake. Water laps against the shoreline in a gentle internal current, while in the very center, it seems almost eerily calm. A small sign hung on the highest bit of twine states 'LAKE HOPELESS' in forcibly fancy script, yet there doesn't seem to be any apparent reason for the title. Maybe one of the residents knows.

Another picnic dinner? This is beginning to become a habit for the tanner and healer couple, but one Bowen seems to enjoy and prefer to the loud and crowded dinner crush in the Living Cavern. Still, this is a bit of a muggy summer evening as they settle onto the blanket with their basket meal and beverages, and Bowen’s eyes observe the lake’s surface thoughtfully as he tries to draw Cheusia more up against his chest, an attempt to hold her between his legs while he sits up, his chest to her back and his knees draw up a little to bracket her in somewhat protectively, and possessively, there. “How was yer day?” he asks her softly.

Cheusia is more at ease with being out at the lake rather than in the Living Caverns where everyone could possibly hear them talk. Having changed to matched the weather, she is in rather loose fitting clothing. While Bowen observes the lake, she observes him with the same curiosity as normal. Until he draws her closer and she molds easily into the position he puts them in. Grey eyes close as she tilts her head back, relaxing fully against him. "Boring. Sometimes I actually find myself hoping that someone has busted their head open…" Likely a horrible thing to say, but organizing the cabinets is hardly stimulating. "How was yours?"

The big guy’s broad-shouldered torso leans forward a little as she relaxes more fully against him, providing better support, perhaps, or just making it easier for him to loosely put his arms around her and rest his elbows on his knees at the same time, hands loosely clasped together, too. Her statement earns her a quiet smile and Bowen looks from the lake down to her face, tilting his head a little to offer a soft brushing of lips before he lifts his face once more, though still looking at her, and says, “Reckon I could start anuth’r bar fight fer ya, j’st send w’rd when yer havin’ a slow day.” Then he nods once, blue eyes taking in her face and clothes, all the way down to her feet, before he murmurs, “S’was good. Finished a couple projects I wuz w’rkin’ on,” and there’s a little pause as he offers a slightly teasing smile, “Made ya sumpthin’, too.” And here he lifts one arm to reach into the basket for two of the meatrolls, moving one to his other hand and offering one to her if she wants it, while the other is brought to his own lips and he takes a slow bite.

Cheusia smiles faintly, clearly pleased with how they are settled. Grey eyes peek open just to see his reaction before his lips are brushing lightly against hers. Her smile grows wider and she tilts her head slightly. "Nah. You don't need to start a bar fight… Would hate to have some poor fool punched for my sake. Even if he might've been asking for it." She laughs and closes her eyes again. "Oh. That's good. Getting things done is always good." Grey eyes open again as he notes that he made her something. "Oh? You did?" Curious, but not pressing she accepts the offered meatroll and nibbles on it.

There comes another sly smile from Bowen as she speaks of bar fights and punching fools for her sake, but he doesn’t say anything against it. The fact is, Bowen is liable to do more than just punch a guy for Che’s sake, depending on the circumstances of course. Granted, picking a fight just to give her something to do at the infirmary isn’t really Bo’s style, so he’s likely only being facetious there. Mostly. Ahem. To her last, he smiles once more, looking down into her eyes as she opens them, and nods slightly as he chews his meatroll. He doesn’t speak again until he’s finished the whole darn thing, the slow-poke. “Ayup,” he finally says, reaching again with that one hand to grab up the wine bottle and hook a finger around one of the mugs to bring it back to his other hand and sets to pouring the first mug for her, if she wants it, “T’aint much, but I reckon it might be useful some.” And he’s a tanner, not a jeweler-smith.

Cheusia smiles more, patient with him and his lack of reply until he finishes his meatroll. She even finishes her own in that time and taking the mug he fills for her and sipping at it. "Still, its something rather than nothing. Would prefer something useful rather than something I'll stare at for hours and wonder what the heck I'm supposed to use it for. What is it?"

Once she takes the mug Bowen offers, he reaches back into the picnic basket, presumably for his own mug, but instead he withdraws a little suede leather pouch with leather thongs as a drawstring. He hands it to her with a shy smile, saying nothing for the time being. It’s a light beige-tan leather hue, undyed, and of a very soft leather quality, having spent so much time in the braining vats, and left in its natural state other than the stitching, of course, and the drawstring, and then there is a little stamp about the size of a mark in the center of the pouch with simple lines that, in a rather impressionist artistic way, suggests a winding river snaking under a bridge that crosses its banks. It could simply be an artisan’s marker, but more than likely not, considering the rather more significant meaning behind bridges over rivers for this couple, that being where they first kissed. Only after giving her a few quiet moments to study it does he speak, “I was gonna dye it, since ya asked ‘bout dyin’ b’fore, but I didn’t know what color t’do, an’ it’s already yeller,” well mostly. Kind of light tan, really. He licks his lips, seeming kind of awkward about the whole thing, “An’ it’s wat’rproof, too. I double-lined it fer ya, sos ya can keep things in it, herbs or powd’rs or whatever ya need fer healin’, an’ if someone sick ups all o’er ya, th’ stuff’ll stay dry,” because talking about someone puking on your lady love is just so romantic, really, “well, so long as ya keep th’ drawstring tight o‘course.”

Cheusia turns her attention to the leather that is drawn out of the basket, brows lifting and the mug is settled carefully where it won't be spilled accidentally. She reaches for it, fingers trailing lightly along it as she takes in the detail and smiles at the marking on the pouch. She turns, looking at him full on and then shifting so that she's on her knees and only a little taller than him. Her hands are only briefly freed of his gift as her arms slip around his neck and she places a firm kiss upon his lips. No words, for now.

At first, Bowen thinks maybe he messed up. She’s not talking. She’s not saying anything really. Not even a polite ‘thank you’, which isn’t so important to him as just knowing that he didn’t completely mess up. He misses the smile simply by virtue of the direction they both are facing. His expression sobers and his blue eyes slide to the basket as he puts the wine bottle he still had hold of with his other hand back safely into the basket, reasonably certain that if it was in the basket, he’d have a little more warning if she went for it to club him with, being that there aren’t any frying skillets or rolling pins within hands reach … which is about when she turns around in his loosened grasp and puts her arms around his neck. He turns his head back forward to look into her eyes just before she leans in for that firm kiss, and the man blinks twice before closing his own eyes and wrapping his now free arms more securely around her, relaxing into that firm kiss. Aw-yeah, Bowen. Ya musta dun good, man. Deepening that firm kiss, Bowen leans back onto his back, arms still wrapped around her to pull her down with him to lie on top of him while his lips open against her mouth and his breathing turns more ragged, little by little. His head resting back against the blanket now, his hat tilts up and off, and the man doesn’t seem to care one bit. He’s preoccupied with a much more interesting activity.

Cheusia is likely oblivious to the turmoil she's caused without even saying her thanks, but really, words aren't really going to express her gratitude. That, or, she's been awed into silence yet again. So, clubbing him with the wine doesn't cross her mind, at all. The deepening kiss is met with her pressing into it more, easily going down with him and only shifting so that her arms are not trapped beneath his neck and likely making it more comfortable for the both of them. Instead, her elbows now slightly prop her up.

Quiet. Bowen likes quiet, so long as it isn’t just the calm before the storm, preceding a beating for something he did wrong that he didn’t realize was wrong. So, ‘awed into silence’ or simply there not being any proper wording to express her feelings, is quite fine by him as soon as he figures out that was what was going on. The kissing part helps the slow tanner figure that out sooner than later, of course. The fact that she isn’t clubbing him with the wine bottle is also a very big, and welcome, sign. As she responds encouragingly to his deepening of the kiss, he is only too happy to kick the passion up a notch with his tongue exploring her lips and mouth as permitted, and as she is currently on top of him, the stocky tanner isn’t going anywhere, or stopping that kiss, anytime soon. A deep rumble of a satisfying moan vibrates his chest and throat and his hands on her waist and back grip her a little more tightly. His legs remain more or less as they are, however, with his knees drawn up and now effectively cradling her own, considering their positioning.

Cheusia's lips part as his tongue explores, encouraging for him to deepen the kiss more. It even draws out a soft moan from her more so when his grip tightens. Then, she pulls back to catch her breath as he seems to take it more quickly than ever. "Thank you…" Comes out softly before she gingerly brushes her lips against his. "Its perfect…"

Bowen’s hands slide down to her derriere when she moans and dares to give it a little squeeze just before she pulls back to catch her breath. He chases her lips briefly as she pulls back, seeking a little more, before he smiles up into her eyes and lets his head gently fall back against the blanket. He kisses her again as she brushes her lips across his, telling him it’s perfect, and he slides his hands more appropriately up to the small of her back once more, stroking there and then squeezing in a little hug, before moving his arms up to lace his hands behind his head, elbows bent, and just enjoying the moment, perhaps a little too much. His smile is a shamelessly smug smile, but considering the rarity of those for him, it could potentially be forgiven. The guy’s ego isn’t used to being stroked, not by a woman anyway, let alone one whose opinion actually matters to him. “Sweet Faranth, if I’d known ya woulda liked it this much, Che, I woulda made ya a dozen by now.” Oh someone please just shut him up before his mouth ruins this. “I’ll make ya more. A lot more,” his smile fades as he seems earnest here, “An’ not j’st cuz ya kissed me like that – though that’s sumpthin’ a man could definitely get used to – but yanno, if ya need more, an’ dye ‘em diff’rent colors as ya like. Whutever ya need, Che. Whutever ya want,” and here he moves his arms back to rest his hands on her back once more, stroking affectionately, tenderly, “J’st name it.”

Cheusia lets out a moan at that squeeze on her rear, cheeks flushing when the finally part. Grey eyes search his blue ones for a moment before she relaxes and leans in to rest her chin upon his chest. That smile, however, draws a bigger one from her and she only moves her arms so that her fingers can trail briefly upon his lip. "Mmm. Then you'd have a dozen more kisses." She teases, giggling softly. "I'd like a lot more, this'll actually save me from getting new clothes commissioned as much as I do…" She likes her looks, and is unwilling to sacrifice them, even for work. Such is the way vanity works for the Healer, at least. "I don't mind kissing you like that more. You're sweet Bo… Very sweet. I'm wondering how I got lucky."

His smile gets a little bigger as she trails her fingers against it, and much like Strider, he lip-nibbles at her fingers gently. Then Bowen chuckles, that deep, soft rumble he’s more prone to do over an all-out guffaw, “I’ll get started t’morrah, one of ev’ry hide an’ color then.” His hands squeeze her waist affectionately again, but the smile begins to fade a little as she talks of clothes, “Ah, Che, I can do a fair hand at flying leathers, but I ain’t no crafter, yanno …” his hands stroke her back again, though now out of worry that she expects him to give her a leather wardrobe … as interesting as his mind can spin off how that would look on her minus the riding crop, of course. Cough. Ahem. He continues stroking her back lovingly like that as she speaks and his smile returns, along with a bedroom look, and after a lengthy pause he murmurs huskily, “Ya can kiss me like that as much as ya like til I’m dead an’ gone …” there’s a shorter pause as he adds, “well, ya can kiss me after I’m dead an’ gone, too, ‘cept I ain’t gonna be so good at kissin’ ya back an’ I reckon I’ll have a real mighty case o’bad breath. But, yanno, whatever makes ya happy, Che.” With another smile, Bowen curls up a little, briefly, to kiss her forehead before lying back against the blanket, “I’m th’ lucky one, Che. Mighty lucky.”

Cheusia laughs at the lip-nibbles her fingers trailing to stroke along his cheek. "One in every color. I'll wear a different color every day." The fading smile is met with her brow lifting curiously but no pressing fully expecting him to express what troubles him. "Ah. You don't need to make me clothes, Bo. I don't think I'd do too well in all leather clothes all the time. 'Specially if it fits really well." Imagine the looks on the faces of the patients, then. Her fingers continue to stroke along his cheek and she returns that bedroom look before laughter spills forth again. "Might be a little awkward if you were dead, hon…" Her head tilts as she relaxes and she sighs. "We can both be the lucky ones. That way we won't bicker over who is luckier."

Pressing his cheek into her hand as she strokes it, Bowen continues to smile up into her eyes, nodding a little as she talks of wearing a different one every day. Oh, Bo can probably well imagine the looks some tight, slick leather outfit on Che might garner, including a few punches in the faces of some other men for the ogling. Since, of course, he’ll be ogling too, only he sees himself as the only one allowed to. So there. “An’ if it fits too well,” Bo reasons softly, “then it’ll be all that much harder gettin’ it off ya anyhow.” Because, that’s really important to the tanner. The laughter from her shuts him up with a rueful grin of his own, loving the sound of her mirth like that, and then he follows her statement with a slight shrug, “If I’m dead, at least ya won’t hafta worry ‘bout me resistin’ yer femin’n’ wiles ya got an’ runnin’ ‘way.” Then his lids lower slightly and his hands slide up from her back to her shoulders and then back down again, in a long, slow stroke of her torso. He smiles more softly, and says huskily, “No bickerin’. More kissin’. Sounds perfect t’me. Let’s start now,” and with that, he slowly rolls over in an attempt to pin her beneath him, but he tries to do it carefully so as not to hurt her or bang her head on anything, including the ground. If successful, he’ll lean in to claim another firm, possessive kiss.

Cheusia smiles as he presses his cheek into her hand, though it really is a wide grin at this point. "Mm. That'd be bad. Having to cut off my clothes every day." She tsks and laughs again before considering. "I'd be sad if you were dead." Which is the short version of what she could say, but it is mush safer than the longer version at least. More laughter follows as he rolls over and efficiently pins her down and she manages to cut off her laughter in time to respond to the kiss. Her arms slip around his neck once more and she holds on tight, easily submissive and thoroughly possessed by the tanner.

Throughout the kiss, Bowen tries very hard not to think about having to cut Cheusia out of her leather clothes every day, but dammit it’s hard. Trying not to think about it, that is. And it only seems to fuel the deepening kiss as he braces himself above her so as not to crush her, but still close enough to feel her warmth and softness beneath him. “Mmm,” Bowen rumbles throatily, slowly, reluctantly pulling from the kiss to open his eyes and look down into her face. Shifting his weight a little to support himself briefly on one arm and his knees, he lifts that free hand to cradle her cheek tenderly and murmurs, “I ain’t goin’ no where, Che,” considering the topic of death, and while the tanner can’t really predict such things, he makes the statement just the same, an attempt to reassure her, perhaps. “Not without me kickin’ an’ screamin’ th’ whole way,” to whatever afterlife awaits them, if any at all.

Cheusia's arms tighten around his neck, if only to keep herself close once he braces himself. Though she slackens her arms when he pulls away, grey eyes seeking his and smiling. She leans into his hand and sighs, "I'm glad." She is satisfied with that response, her eyes closing and her lips forming a content smile. "I wouldn't let you go that easily…"

Bowen smiles down into that smile and says she’s glad, even as she closes her eyes again, and there’s a little pause after her latter statement, and then Bowen has to shift again and let go of her face to brace himself more on the other hand, grunting a little as he says, “Of course ya ain’t. Who else is gonna make ya dem pouches? Ain’t gonna be Max, that’s fer sure.” Not that Max probably couldn’t do some solid tanning of hides and leather repair work in the stables when needed to, most likely. He leans down to brush his lips stealthily, since her eyes are closed, against hers, and then adds, “Or teach ya howta ride Strider,” well, Max could probably do that. “Or any other number o’ things ya wanna learn.” He stops a moment and looks at the lake over his shoulder and then back down into her face, “Ya ev’r been swimmin’? I mean, not like in the bathin’ pools. Honest ta goodness swimmin’?”

Cheusia mms, "well, that's not the only reason why…" She trails off, leaving it at that and again avoiding fighting with him on the subject. There's a soft eep as he brushes her lips against hers and grey eyes open to consider him. The smile lingers though she says nothing, her gaze slowly trailing over towards the lake. "Swimming? No. I don't know how to swim."

Its’ a muggy summer evening, so the man was already contemplating losing his shirt. Now Bowen has a good enough reason and the tanner slowly shifts to straighten more upright on his knees, straddling her thighs, Bowen pulls his shirt off over his head. Letting go the reasons why she might be sad if he up and bought the farm on her, he drops his shirt down beside her and then lowers himself back down on top of her, braced on his elbows. “Care ta learn?” he asks huskily, his lips a few inches above her face.

Cheusia watches him remove his shirt, grey eyes focused entirely on him and then coming to focus somewhere else once he lowers himself down again. A smile plays on her lips and she considers. "I don't have anything to swim in…" She chuckles softly before nodding. "Teach me."

Men often forget such things as swimwear. Well, men who aren’t used to having to attend to a woman’s needs anyway. When Che focuses somewhere else, not on him as he lowers himself down again, Bowen frowns slightly, but it’s gone again as her own smile plays on her lips like that, and he smiles a little more slyly before her chuckle brings out a deep rumbling chuckle of his own, and he is unable to resist pressing himself a little closer and settling his lips on her mouth for a chaste, but tender kiss. Then he rises again, this time to roll once and adjust himself so that he is lying on his side up against her hip, one arm loosely settled over her waist, “We could go back fer swimgear if’n ya like, or, yanno, swim in our und’rgarments.” He’s not going to press the matter, though, letting her decide, adding softly, “I’ll teach ya whenever ya like. Now, or anuther time after we get good’n proper swimwear.” His thumb lightly strokes the section of her middle where his hand rests over where the bottom of her ribcage would be found.

Cheusia mms softly and returns the tender kiss before he rolls over. Her arm will slip over his before she looks at him with a smile. "Nah. I'm okay going naked." Though this is said nonchalantly, as if she did not just suggest that. Her head tilts back and considers the sky. "If you want to go later when we have proper swimwear, we can do that, too. Up to you."

The comment definitely draws a surprised look from Bowen, but a slow smirk forms as well a heartbeat later. Man, why didn't he leave holds and move into a weyr sooner? “Well, I reckon naked is good if’n yer okay with that,” he says eventually as he shifts a little more on his elbow and slides his hand along her middle slowly, “But ya gotta let me hit any feller whut stares atchyu too long. Deal?”

Cheusia peeks at him and grins when she notices that smirk. "I'm okay with that." She promises and then moving her hands to slowly unbutton her shirt, starting from the top. "Deal." And that grin grows just a little wider.

Closing Credits Theme Music: Christian Kane - "More Than I Deserve"

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