Who: Zinovia and C’aol
When: Month 8, 201 AT
Where: Guest Weyr, Honshu Weyrhold
What: A quest for information turns into something else.
Notes: Sex. Violence.

Whether Zinovia has gone out of her way //not// to see C’aol or has simply been busy with weyrlinghood and arranging her return to Silverfield to take up her birthright, she’s done little but catch glimpses of him on her way from one place to another. Perhaps she means for the fact that she’s sharing a weyr with a blueriding woman say anything that she needs for her, so it’s a little out of the blue when she sends Phoenix to find the Weyrsecond and deliver a missive requesting a meeting, time and location printed neatly before her name. Maybe she’s chosen one of the ground weyrs devoid of anything but basic furniture believing it to be neutral ground, or maybe she means for it to be a signal of something else, but it’s there she waits, whatever her intentions, Phoenix curled protectively around her shoulders.

C’aol has no firelizard to send a reply to receiving Lady Silverfield’s missive and so does not acknowledge her request until his feet pass him through the doorway. He’s dressed sharply in attire that would be suitable for riding Daeserath or negotiating with uppity Holders. His presence is one that takes up the entire room as he crosses it, his face immobile in neutrality as his cold blue eyes fall upon Phoenix. “I received her note,” he tells the greenrider, lifting a brow as he looks Zinovia up and down. “But you were rather short on the reason for calling me here.” He moves to a chair and rests his hands on the back of it, knowing that his remaining standing gives him a more imposing quality. His smile is cold as he waits for Zinovia to give her reasons.

“Technically, the note was mine, deliverer though she was,” Zinovia cannot help but pause to point out before she might consider revealing the reason why she’s asked him to meet her. She’s sat herself down at the edge of the slim, single bed in the room, hands propped behind her to better support her growing queen’s weight, Phoenix’s gaze whirling in lazy ambers and yellows similar to the flashes of light across her hide. “I thought I ought to ask you if you’ve any preferences in terms of décor and design, since you should have a room of your own at Silverfield, being that you certainly won’t be sleeping in my bed.” She twitches a shoulder, making Phoenix dig her claws in, the motion drawing not a flinch from her. “Should you ever wish to visit our children, there ought to be somewhere for you to stay.”

“I had no intention of living at Silverfield,” C’aol makes that statement ahead of any other thoughts, his eyes narrowing at her position on the bed. “With a bronze to take me wherever I wish around Pern, I needn’t have a room to sleep in should the hours draw too late to hail a wagon.” He makes a step closer, tilting his head and allowing a smile to crease his features that does not reach his eyes. “I think you brought me here to test me,” he tells her, making his way closer and closer to that bed. “You’ve sat yourself on this bed – instead of a chair. Have rumors reached your ears again, Lady?” he queries, adding, “they’ve certainly reached mine. Now I understand fully why you wished to form a contract with me about begetting your heirs. Already taken up with a woman, have you? The Weyr certainly allows for freedoms you were never going to have before.”

“I certainly have no intention of you living there, but, for one, I thought it might be easier on the children for them to understand that there is some space that is yours and that you are not some phantom.” And yet Zinovia shrugs again, a thing that irritates Phoenix enough that she turns and hops down to the bed, claiming a pillow. “What test could I possibly wish to put you through?” she questions, head tilting. “We have a contract. It’s simple. And not time for it to be invoked.” She reacts not in the slightest to the barbs tossed her way regarding what of her sexuality is now common knowledge, her dark gaze holding steady. “Since you’re not to be my husband, it shouldn’t trouble you who I choose to share my bed with. What should I care for rumours? We’ve been in the same cot since the week Yukijiath’s hatched. If you mean to imply I attended the hatching with the intention of Impressing simply to sleep with any I wish, that would have been a poor gamble for anyone to make.”

“I do not remember signing any paperwork that stated I had any vested interest in spending time with the children outside of normal expectations. Are they fed, are they having proper schooling, are they doing what is expected of them? If you want me to pursue a familial bond with them, perhaps you chose the wrong man. It sounds as if you now expect me to act the part of a true husband,” C’aol says in droll delivery and a little snide. “Without the benefits of having a true wife.” He makes his way close enough to the bed that he looms over her, his height making him tip his head down to maintain eye contact. “No matter what you intended when you came to the Hatching, you got to keep your Hold, you got a dragon, and now you’ve got a Weyrsecond whom you think you can call to hear your inane proposals. Give me a real reason for calling me here. Offering me a bedroom and pointing out it won’t be shared with yours is so… mundane.”

Sure enough in herself, Zinovia merely lounges down onto the bed and folds her arms behind her head, a tiny smirk tugging at one corner of her lips. “So, the children are to be mine and my wife’s,” it must be a deliberate choice of words, “and I can be sure not to expect you to spend time with them beyond prearranged, supervised meetings. That is reassuring.” From how she allows that smirk to blossom into a proper smile, perhaps further ascertaining C’aol’s intentions has been her only object. “Are you jealous?” she challenges. “Jealous that I managed what you couldn’t? Or do you wish I’d asked you to be my husband and given you the title that you lost? I suffer no illusion that you would want //me//, but the rest? You’re still raging over it, decades later.”

There’s that darkness that descends into C’aol’s gaze that makes the man look altogether feral. He places one knee on the bed and eases down, moving to hover over Zinovia. “Don’t worry, little wherry. We never wanted //you//. Only the title.” He places one hand close to her head for support, while the other idly taps at her lips if she lets him. “Who would not be annoyed that you got the treatment I did not? They never considered that I could have Zaivar. But then,” he draws his finger down along her neck and then flicks the tip of her earlobe. “We had heirs already and Silverfield is so clearly lacking in that.” He stays there, letting the tension pulse between them like a living thing. He pauses before placing his other hand on the opposite side of her body – indirectly ‘pinning’ her. “You and your wife. How sweet. Yes, you both may raise the children as you see fit. Are you going to have her watch when I finally bed you?” His smile is sly. “She can, if it helps you two… on your end.”

“Don’t worry,” Zinovia echoes back at him, drawing her knees up to plant her feet down on the edge of the bed, either planning on needing leverage or indirectly and unconsciously submitting, whatever her motive, “I had to lose everything to get all that you covet so.” She manages to twist that deep and unrelenting grief into a low, bitter fury, summoning a hiss from Phoenix, who watches all with a red-hued gaze before she abruptly vanishes. The touch to her lips is permitted only in the moments until C’aol plants his other hand down, which is when she reaches to curl a fist into his collar, just shy of his throat, whether to shove him away or tug him nearer. All she does is maintain that hold, unmoving. “Why would she want to watch? Do you want to watch //us//? Would that help //you//?” Baring her teeth, she asks, “Or does //this// help you?”

It’s the hand to his collar that draws a fast reaction from C’aol. In a whirl of momentum, he balances himself on his knees and grabs her wrist that’s against his collar and slams it back on the bed. Her other wrist is equally snagged before she can use it to punch him. That too is slammed on the bed and both are drawn above her head. “This helps me very much,” he tells her, leaning his face over hers and hovering there. He wants to see if she will squirm, likely her reaction will drive him one way or another. His breath is hot against her cheek as he whispers into her ear. “Was it the fear of a marriage bed with a man that drove you into her arms?” he questions her, “Or was it fear of losing control? Because right now, I have it all.” He lingers, letting the roughness of his growing beard scrape against Zinovia’s smooth cheek.

Zinovia doesn’t squirm, but she does stay very, very still, seeming not even to breathe, as if to continue to need to might be construed as a weakness. Idly, she flexes her fingers, slowly turning one knee to nudge it in against his hip as she tells him, “I would have made her mine if she were a man or a woman, make no mistake.” She speaks to the ceiling as she would to C’aol, sparing it none of her spirit. “So fixed on the idea of me with a woman… Are you so afraid you will be a disappointment? Maybe you won’t manage it after all. I told you before: you won’t break me. You’re stuck with me for everything you’ve ever wanted.” Her other knee trails inward too, until it touches his other hip. “Control? No. You’re chained to me. //I// give you what control you think you have. And I can call and discard you like you have those others. You’re a glorified errand boy.” She even laughs, the sound not quite hysterical. Maybe she has to.

C’aol’s done talking now, his hands hold fast to her wrists. He eases that knee of hers away with his own leg, pushing it further and making it clear what area of Zinovia’s body he is making more available to his body. He looks down at her and smiles, his cold eyes dark and luminous with pleasure at the position of power he has claimed. He eases her hands further up, making it so he can grip both of them with one hand as he moves to lower a finger over her lips. “It’s time to be quiet, Lady Silverfield,” he tells her in a low, husky, tone. “You’ll have one opportunity to speak here – you may tell me now if you want this to end. I will take your silence as permission. You want to see what this errand boy can do? You want to see what pain and pleasure can do to a body? Then I will show you. And when I have you, //I’m// the one in control. If you speak out of turn,” his smile grows wicked, “I’ll punish you until you beg for release.”

Sometimes, Zinovia just doesn’t know when to be quiet. Then, there are too many possible meanings to claim from staying so, least of all that which C’aol has already told her. She doesn’t fight to keep her knee where she’s rested it, nor even when his nudging it aside causes the skirts of her hitch and fall in lines that do nothing to preserve what modesty she has left, perhaps sealing her fate when teeth suddenly latch on to the finger at her lips, biting down hard for the second that she chooses to. “Funny,” she drawls, flexing her fingers again. “You didn’t seem interested in pleasure before.” Only then is she silent, the movement of her fingers not to fight against his hold, but maybe only to check that they’re still there. Phoenix doesn’t return. There’s no dark outrage from Yukijiath. Just Zinovia blinking up at him, her stare not passive in the slightest.

C’aol snarls at Zinovia’s teeth to his finger and then his laughter follows – a dark, husky, sound that rolls from deep in his chest and the back of his throat. He said he wouldn’t speak any more and takes her stare as a challenge – and her consent. He removes his belt from his pants and brings it up to use to bind her hands, tight enough that she’d have to squirm to free herself, but not impossible should she really want to be free. He watches her as his hand moves to her chest, his grip on her breast firm and claiming. His thumb finds her nipple and he squeezes it between his forefinger, needing extra pressure as her dress still serves as a barrier. His lips move to claim her neck, his teeth grazing her flesh as he nips at the corner of her jaw and then her ear. He eases back and then begins to roll her dress out of his way, slowly, as his fingers pinch along her flesh and then claim the space between her thighs. His fingers seek entrance as his eyes lock on to hers.

The only flash of fear appears when C’aol takes off his belt, though it seems less about it now being only a few buttons to loosen his trousers and more about the leather he could wield, Zinovia’s gaze going glassy and distant to will herself away from whatever she expects next. The binding of her wrists is plainly not it, for she breathes an audible sigh of relief, still recovering from the prospect of being hurt one way (again?) to much mind his hand at her breast, nor his teeth at her neck, the latter drawing a soft sound from her before she can stop herself. Later, she may hate that she helps him, drawing her knees further apart and unwittingly shifting her hips to seek out the progress of his fingers, right up until he looks up at her again. Going still, she watches him for a moment, then closes her eyes and lazily rolls her hips against his hand. Maybe she’s going to imagine someone else.

His hand is deft and knowing, the pleasure he seeks to bring is brought up to when he thinks Zinovia might peak and then he ceases it. C’aol rises then, moving off of the bed so that he can remove his shirt and his pants. He will not afford the time it would take him to remove her clothes, choosing to keep her skirts up to expose what he desires. He returns over her, moving to press himself against her thigh and let it rest there. He reaches for her face then, hand clasping over her jaw and squeezing. “Look at me,” he demands of her, waiting until her eyes open before he forces himself inside her. It’s a sharp quick jab, meant to remove her virginity, and he holds on to her face as he continues to find a rhythm inside her. His movements are fast and rough – meant to take her without care for how untried she may be in receiving a man. He does not wait or care if she finds a release with his movements, he soon finds his. He moves on top of her as he shudders release, letting the press of his body fully weigh down on hers.

Zinovia has lost much of the will to censor herself by the time that C’aol rises, choosing to curse at him as he denies her what she wants, then again as he rests himself against her and grabs her jaw. She makes to bite again, a futile effort leaving her with the click of her teeth ringing hollow in her ears, yet she’s too wound up to cling to stubbornness and not do as he wishes, and too far gone in need to be able to conceal the desire in her dark eyes when she opens them. It flickers as he enters her, a sound slipping from her lips that definitely has nothing to do with pleasure, how she arches against him an involuntary reaction to pain that could be misconstrued as encouragement. While she can’t see past the pain, she stares up at the ceiling instead of looking at him, but her body soon starts to remind her of what it wants and more traitorous things colour the air, wrists straining against leather as she pleads, “Want touch.” Just what she means only becomes apparent when she manages to slip free a hand as she finds release and arches again, her fingers curling tight into C’aol’s hair as he rests on top of her, her nails sharp.

C’aol’s breathing finds a more normal rhythm and controlled once more, he eases off of Zinovia. Her wrist is grabbed and he twists her arm painfully back up again. His other hand moves to pat at her cheek. “You could learn to be better. But you’ll do.” He rises then, his lean and muscular body slick with sweat. He pauses at the edge of the bed, reaching down between her legs once more, his fingers probing once more. “Tight,” he leers at her and then shakes his head. He pinches the inside of her thigh. “Next time you pleasure yourself while I’m having you, I’ll spank you. Naughty child.” He leaves her then, shoving his body into his pants and slipping his shirt back over his head. He’s not one to linger and he has no concern for her as far as asking after her wellbeing. Once his feet are shoved back into boots, he heads out the door and does not look back.

Zinovia hisses as her arm is pinned back down, turning her head when C’aol pats at her cheek to snap at his fingertips again, claiming the middle one and holding until she might draw blood, only then relinquishing her grip. She aims a half-hearted kick at his ribs when he investigates between her legs again, caught somewhere between lingering pleasure and pain that demands she not be touched, yet the will to move just isn’t there and she only curses at him again. “They say it helps. With conceiving. That women enjoy it.” Not that she can mean to do that now? “If you’re not capable of ensuring that…” She closes her eyes as he dresses, slowly inching her legs back together. “Next time you’re having me, you’ll be beneath me or not at all. It’s my turn next.” Whether she can make that a reality is another matter entirely, but she throws his belt at him with more distaste for the strip of leather than for him, letting him leave without throwing any further after him. Once C’aol is gone, Phoenix returns and lets Zinovia curl up around her, neither willing to face another soul but Yukijiath for a while.

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