Who: Isolwyn, C’aol, Eosyth, Daeserath
Where: Weyrwoman’s Weyr
What: Isolwyn shares news of the Court with C’aol. They also have sex, because they seem to find plotting a turn-on.
When Isolwyn returns to Fort, having left early in the afternoon, it’s almost evening, Eosyth’s spiral down to her ledge a lazy thing that gives her the time to survey the Weyr before she reaches a dainty landing, lets her rider down to the ground and patiently waits for her straps to be removed. Not one for wearing riding leathers beyond the necessary jacket, Isolwyn straightens the heavy skirts of her dress and slings her straps over a shoulder as she heads inside, where she hangs the lengths of leather up just inside the door and strips off her jacket to sling it a little more carelessly over the back of the nearest chair, keeping with her only the bag she’s brought back. << We have news of the situation with young Vesoviath and her Hold that C’aol should hear, >> Eosyth tells Daeserath. << And I am cold from Between. >> The latter cannot be true, especially given the sly edge to her words.
Daeserath makes his way to Eosyth’s ledge from the lake, his flight a short one before he’s settled beside her. He sounds amused as he offers a wing and the warmth of his body to tuck her against. << Between makes you cold now? Tell yours he is finishing a meeting and will be here shortly. >> It takes C’aol closer to a half-hour before he makes his way into Isolwyn’s weyr. He unbuttons the top buttons of his shirt and removes his boots at the door before he makes his way further into her living space. “What news of the little gold then?” he asks instead of offering a greeting. “I was wondering if you’d get it out of someone eventually over everything that is going on.” When he finds her, he offers her a cold smile. “You’ve already a plan in motion to handle it as well, darling Weyrwoman?”
<< Between is cold. >> That’s Eosyth’s story and she’s sticking to it, a pleased, purring note rising from her as she cuddles close to Daeserath beneath the blanket of his wing. Maybe something of that affection bleeds through to Isolwyn, for upon catching sight of C’aol, she rises from her chair at the hearth and steps up to him to nose just at where he’s loosened his collar before stepping back again to look up at him. “I played it as if my primary concern was the child,” is free of guilt, perhaps only because she can easily admit, “and while it //is// a concern, it’s only one among many.” She sits herself back down in her chair, though at its edge now. “J’kson informed me that Honshu gave them the eggs and that the… unique nature of the gold is not the only feature not quite right about them. The dragonhealer was attacked for leaking information after being instructed not discuss matters with anyone else.”
C’aol does not do more than offer a vague smile to Isolwyn’s affection, his focus too heavy on the political nature of their situation. “It sounds as if I need to visit O’rlen. If he is so unable to handle the ramifications of his choices that he’s risking outing his involvement in the Weyrleaders death then it means my own is up for sale.” His eyes are cold as he listens to the likely sire of the not-gold. “Rori and her lover thought they had it hard before. When the Council gets word of this, and is she is so uniquely shaped for it they will, a lot more is coming upon their heads.” He shakes his head as he angles to settle himself in a chair. “It will be a high risk to train the girl here. Her Lady has no tolerance of me and my…,” he curls his lips like the words taste bitter, “handling of some past women. I blame Lady Silverfield as no other women ever went so far as to try and //kill// me. She didn’t like being treated as she was but she solicited it.” It’s the most blatant and unkind he has been about speaking on the arrangement he made with the Lady greenrider. “They will want leverage over us. Other than claiming my involvement with O’rlen’s plans? I am not sure they have enough on us.”
“It would have been rather foolish of Lady Silverfield to try and get you out of the picture, especially if it put her in the situation of having to explain to your daughter what happened to her father when she’s old enough to understand that people have such things,” Isolwyn considers, leaning back in her chair. “That is, I assume having to discuss the permanent absence of a father isn’t something a mother would relish. In any case, if it //is// true that it stemmed from her, there’s a way to find out. Perhaps revealing exactly who suggested you should be harmed ought to be part of the agreement.” She tilts her head slightly, watching for C’aol’s reaction to that proposition. “The fact is they need us. If they put a foot wrong, all we have to do is call a Council meeting. Whether we actually reveal anything of the gold or not will be down to their response – I imagine the threat alone would be enough.” Holding her hands up, she confesses, “I have no ill will towards the girl. It isn’t her fault that her life has taken the turn it has and it would be more ignorant of us to punish her for it, no matter what kind of queen she’s Impressed. She’s young. If we can make a friend of her, she might be what we need to ensure her parents never hurt you or any of ours. And you never know when we might need people like them to do others things that we can’t be seen to.”
“I do not need confirmation on who ordered it. I know who did it and that is enough,” C’aol answers stiffly before he shrugs and stretches his shoulder to release tension there. “Are we to hide this gold and the child? It is not as if Fort is isolated. People come and go from Holds and Weyrs on business. Do we claim she is a daughter of Eosyth and then suffer the belief //our// dragons are of ill begotten stock?” He shakes his head. “I’ll leave it all up to you, Isolwyn. The only thing I know is the parents will demand her safety above all else.” His smile is cold and his eyes are colder. “Though they are murdering thieves, for some reason the woman thinks I am the worst creature to live and breathe. You’ll have to assure her I will have no part in this, other than offering the child and golds safety as I would any dragonriders under our Weyr.”
Isolwyn’s lips easily curve into a sly little smile. “Those eggs were of Honshu. You’ve matters to discuss with O’rlen. Why don’t you ‘come home from Honshu’ with the promise of training for Eosyth’s little sister? Perhaps Amorenth simply doesn’t know what to do with her.” Getting her to her feet, she takes the few steps it takes to bring her closer to C’aol and looks up at him, settling her hands lightly at his middle. “//I// know you’re not the worst creature to live and breathe. I’m also self-important enough to believe mine is the only opinion that matters.” That smile returns. “So, I’m afraid she’s wrong. And if she even contemplates trying something, they can handle matters with the gold themselves and see just how well that goes for them, given how it’s gone so far.” She lifts a hand to press her palm to his cheek. “I won’t let her hurt you. Ever.”
C’aol’s lips twist into a cruel smirk at the mention of returning “home” to Honshu. “Fort is the only home worth having. I’ll pay a visit to O’rlen. I’m not asking them for anything. If anything, I will let Aerishani and O’rlen both know that I am stepping in to save their asses.” His cruelty dissipates with Isolwyn’s touch, the closest thing to softness smoothing tight lines from lips and eyes as he considers her. “I appreciate you protecting me, my darling Weyrwoman. I’m sure she will fear you far more than me.” His hand drifts to capture her wrist and draw her hand towards the area of scars. “As you well know she has bested me before.” He looks down at her and then moves his hand to cup her cheek and draw her face towards hers for a kiss. He nips at her lip before he pulls back from her. “You May tell any you wish that you have tamed me. It’s true enough.” His gaze lingers on hers.
“I think I’d much prefer to keep that to myself,” Isolwyn murmurs, lingering up on tiptoe with her arms around C’aol’s neck, a hand toying with the ends of his hair. “This part of you is mine. I wouldn’t want others to believe it exists. I can be quite possessive, you know.” Her deadpan delivery is ruined by the twitch of her lips. “We do this together,” she tells him, her voice low with a quiet determination. “Like everything else. I will never undermine you by suggesting to anyone else that you’re mine to do with as I please.” Her lips twitch again, a motion she tries to suppress by pressing them to his jaw. “As much fun as that sounds at this moment,” is a soft confession that she can’t quite keep from warmth.
C’aol allows his hands to wander along her body in the way of one familiar with preferred places to rest and grip. He takes a possessive squeeze of her rear as he draws her closer against his body. “Enough talking and plotting,” he tells her as he lets his other hand reach to grab and claim a breast. “We will visit Honshu together and bargain with the other Hold. For now, you’ve got me intending to prove how much power you and I can exert over each other.” He leans forward to nip at her neck and ear, his hands tightening their hold as he eases her back towards the couch. His hands may be rough and yet – when his lips find hers it’s with the quiet, slow, heat of desire that he claims them for his own to soften to his will.
“Enough plotting? I didn’t agree to this.” A ripple of laughter turns into another sound entirely as Isolwyn’s fingers hook into the back of C’aol’s shirt and she momentarily gives in to any desire to halt him or gain the upper hand, letting him guide her back towards the couch with her focus narrowed to his kiss. That is, until she takes a slight step to the side and turns, hooking one of her feet behind his ankle to unbalance him enough that she can send him down to the couch cushions before her and scramble into his lap, giving a pleased, predatory hum as she claims his lips again and starts to unbutton his shirt. She pauses in that to lift fingers to the end of one of the ribbons in her hair and pull until she can drag it free and hold it taut between her fingertips as she looks down at him with a contemplative air. Only then she releases one end of it and leaves it there between them in a silent offer.
C’aol’s immediate reaction to being tipped backwards is to reach for Isolwyn’s hand and grip it tight between his with a snarl. His temper is quick to leave him as she settles into his lap and her hair is released from a ribbon. He smirks up at her as he takes the ribbon. “How might I tie you and have you on top of me?” he idly wonders as he draws the ribbon thoughtfully through his fingers. He considers her and then tells her, his voice low and his eyes going half-lidded. “Strip first.” He makes no move to help her nor when she does remove her clothing he does nothing about his own as he watches her closely.
“Maybe it’s you we should be tying,” Isolwyn counters with the brief arch of a brow as she reaches for the laces down each side of her dress, not shifting from C’aol’s lap as she lazily loosens them enough for fabric to start to slip. How she leans into him before she rises and finds her feet is no accident, and while her dress finds the floor it leaves her in a short black shift that covers enough to be functional, yet not an adequate amount to be modest. “I think you need to catch up before I get upset that you’re wearing too much,” she tells him, leaning over him without sitting herself back in his lap. “Though you can take this off me first, if you like.”
C’aol’s smile is predatory and slow to cross his features as he watches Isolwyn remove her ribbons and slide the dress from her body. He reaches for her hand when she leans over him and tugs her down towards her knees. He waits until she’s on the floor before he rises from the couch and takes off his shirt and shucks off his pants without comment. He stands before her, brow lifting, as he reaches a finger to tip her chin upwards to meet his gaze. “Why don’t you try and pretend you let me make the decisions this time,” he tells her, voice soft and yet edged with something far more commanding in tone. He gestures for her hands, “You had mentioned I’d be allowed to play,” he reminds her, finding that ribbon to twirl between his fingers. “Give me your hands,” he tells her, “and let me tell you how best you can please me today.”
Isolwyn settles on her knees without resistance, unabashed in how she watches C’aol undress, though she fidgets as he tips her gaze up to his, trying to keep her hands still and from inching any closer. For a moment, she watches the ribbon more than him, then presses her wrists together and offers her hands up towards him with a murmured, “Yes, Weyrleader,” that she doesn’t quite manage to keep serious through and through, her gaze lighting with wicked intent. That sharpness fades a little only a few seconds later as she adds a softer and more sincere, “My love,” and lifts her hands a touch higher, settling back on her heels to better keep him in her sights.
There is an edge to C’aol that hasn’t been present in their romantic entanglements, a bit of hardness and desire warring in his gaze as he watches Isolwyn lift her hands. He loops the ribbon about her wrist and ties it, tugging to confirm it is snug enough to give the illusion of being bound – even though one twist could free Isolwyn. His eyes sharpen at her use of his title and then soften as she follows with the other endearment. He strides closer to her, tugging on her wrist and moving his body closer to her face. “Love,” he murmurs back, letting his forefinger and thumb brush along her cheek and tip her chin up to face him. He smiles down at her with a similar wickedness to her own, his hand moving to the back of her head to encourage her to let her lips play with something lower than his own.
The ribbon is tested enough to be curious, yet not enough to discover its limits, Isolwyn’s hands dropping down into her lap as she lifts herself back up to bend herself to the will of C’aol’s hand with all seeming obedience. From then on, however, she seems in absolutely no hurry, determined not to give him everything that he wants straight away, her playing performed in an almost lazy manner that is yet too thorough for her to be not entirely aware of what she’s doing. She fidgets again, drawing her knees together and pressing her bound hands into her lap, and eventually dares to stop, lift her head and look up at him, bright-eyed, waiting to see how he’ll react.
C’aol reacts with a satisfied edge to his smirk as he once more chooses to guide her towards what he wants. He moves away from her, walking to stand behind her as he tips his hand forward to press against her shoulder blades. “On your knees, Weyrwoman,” he murmurs against her ear as he lets his cheek brush against hers. He seems unconcerned that the bound hands may require her to balance more on her forearms and elbows than anything as he nudges his knee between her legs to spread them. He moves inside her with a fierce set of movements, intent on finding his own release and allowing her body to be the vessel of his pleasure. It’s only near the end, when he’s close enough to fight the urge to release, that he lets his fingers reach around her and play enough to have her find completion with him. He lingers with his body pressed over her, enjoying the weight of his body holding hers down. He lets his fingers move up to grip her breast and tighten as he nips at her ear. “Good girl.”
Isolwyn struggles to make dropping down to her knees look elegant, but she does it all the same, planting her elbows down and leaning onto her forearms to find a balance that has her pausing to offer token resistance to C’aol’s knee just because she can. She curses as he takes her, a litany of unpleasant names that she can’t mean shifting to a low, incomprehensible moan as she hangs her head and slowly relaxes into letting him do as he pleases, unwilling to even pretend that doesn’t want him to do exactly that. Tension only finds her again at the touch of his fingers, her voice hitting a higher and more desperate pitch as she moves as she can to better rub against them, release found with a hitching sigh and wordless exclamation. She doesn’t move to encourage him off of her, mindless of the grazes to her knees and arms, yet she provides a good imitation of one his snarls when he grips her breast. “One day,” she breathless swears, “I am going to make you beg so loudly that this whole continent will know how badly you want me.”
C’aol’s laughter is warm breath against her cheek as he rests his face near hers. “We will see,” he tells her with that hint of laughter still in his tone, “how well you do at that ‘one day’.” He removes himself from her then, moving to seat himself beside her as he reaches to untie her hands. He slicks his fingers through his sweat-soaked hair and allows a full smile to claim his features as he looks to her. “I rather like how pliant you were. We should do that again.” He has yet to truly kiss her – and he still does little else but kiss her forehead briefly before he rises. He offers her a hand to help her to her feet. “We should bathe,” he tells her, moving back towards the original business that had been conducted moments ago. “And settle affairs here so we can go and pay Honshu a visit.” He waits until she’s up before he guides her towards the bathroom to make themselves both look more presentable.
Sitting up, Isolwyn watches C’aol untie her hands and tips a tiny smirk up to him as she says, “Only when you’ve been particularly pleasing, I think,” in a voice a little rough around the edges. She accepts his hand to help her to her feet, though she’s a bit unsteady in her first steps as the harshness of the ground reverberates through her limbs, and heads towards the bathing room unable to resist uttering, “You mean you don’t want them to know that we have the time and skills to have fun //and// create order from their chaos?” She doesn’t exactly hurry over the matter of matter of bathing, letting the heat of the water begin to soak away the aches in hurting muscles, and once she’s washed and braided her hair into a plait that reaches past her waist, she ties it off with the same ribbon so recently used for other purposes. It’s as they start to head out towards the ledge that she grabs the front of his jacket and tugs him down to her to finally claim a proper kiss, only to release him just as abruptly and move on out ahead of him as if she’s done nothing at all.
“I never believed O’rlen to be competent to run a Weyr and he has only showed me how right my intuition on that was,” C’aol drawls after her all-too-true assessment of their leadership skills versus Honshu’s. He chooses an outfit that compliments Isolwyn’s own, adding the sharp fit of a properly tailored jacket to add a final touch that should distinguish him, at least visibly, as a more suitable (and better dressed) leader than O’rlen. He doesn’t hide a smile as Isolwyn claims a kiss and he is easy in his steps after her. Soon enough both Fort’s leaders are drifting in the sky above Fort. Daeserath gives one snarl and a roar of warning to any who are within hearing distance to remain //away// while he and his queen are gone. He blinks them Between with a ripple of anger directed to any who defy him.