but what's unexpected, maybe, is the fact that even offering the cue, even inviting Ryn's examination — none of that keeps him from shivering, just a little, when the gloved fingertips make contact with his proffered skin.]
I've mastered my art. Practical knowledge is valued just as much as theoretical, in Sharlayan.
[But. They're trading glasses, and that's a better place to put his focus for the moment, so he does.]
[his ears flick, minutely, when he catches that shiver, the corners of his mouth pulling into a little grin-- but it's not something he follows up, attention shifting back to their glasses. ]
What kind of practical art was it, then? Can't just say that without bragging a little more.
[spill, come on.
meanwhile he takes a sip from thancred's drink, with a thoughtful hum.]
Permission to touch your hair. As briefly as you did my neck, just now.
[He takes another drink — still out of Ryn's traded glass, conspicuously — and doesn't notice how it makes him just a little more stupid, a little more desirous to show off for this singular audience of one in particular.]
[by the same token, he agrees a little more easily, taken enough with him to be more interested in seeing where this goes. in having his attention. sure, there's a chance he'd have agreed anyway, but there's definitely a flirtier tone to his voice.]
I've let you before, haven't I? Don't know why you're so doubtful.
Mayhap I like hearing you agree to it, against expectations to the contrary.
[But he gulps another mouthful of the Number Nine, then sets it back on the counter, and gets up from his seat, staying fully within Ryn's line of sight as he starts to walk a meandering path around the interior of the room nearest the bar.
As he weaves his way back, he makes a brief detour to put one of the pillars between himself and Ryn, obscured for not more than a second or two at the pace he's walking —
Except that he doesn't come back out again. Or doesn't seem to, at least.
Not until two fingers and a thumb catch light hold of one of the tendrils dangling close to the nape of Ryn's neck and smoothly drag all the way down to the tip.]
[what in the nether-- he's sure he saw him duck behind that pillar. ryn squints, focused on it as if waiting for him to pop back out...
which has his attention thoroughly elsewhere when thancred touches that tendril.
it speaks to his old training that, instead of startling and falling off his seat, he just gasps and reflexively straightens, ears perked straight up before they slowly begin to settle.]
Taking advantage of expectations is an aspect of the trade. What did you imagine it would prove to be, something all bluster and show?
[He smiles, not moving any further away even when Ryn turns toward him, comfortably invading his space while maintaining his scrupulously — one might almost, at this point, consider it playfully — enforced distance.]
An Archon mark in flaming knife-juggling. Wouldn't that be a sight.
[Hmmm. His gaze drags down just a fraction, then flicks to Ryn's glass (his former glass? do either of them even remember at this point), then finally back to his eyes as the corner of his mouth curls up into a more mischievous smile.]
I've thought of a means of resolving our startling coincidence. Give me your glass.
And thus Thancred proceeds to take the glass, knock back a nice healthy mouthful, and abandon it haphazardly on the counter (hopefully) as the hand in Ryn's hair shifts to press against the back of his head.
And guide it forward.
And, like shotgunning a mouthful of smoke, presses half the same mouthful of Number Nine past Ryn's lips with a deft sweep of his tongue and a firm seal of a kiss to match.]
[as if he'd care if the glass missed the counter, it's not their problem.
and anyway, he's more focused on thancred's little plan, leaning easily into that kiss; he'd had a slight suspicion, but being proven right like this is always nice, he thinks. it's an enjoyable way to experiment, and he definitely proves not to be shy about it, tasting the liquor from him with a satisfied little hum.
he leans back enough to pull away, but not so far that his hair tendrils unwind from thancred's wrist.]
...still tastes the same to me. We're going to have to test the other glass.
[Rationally, it should occur to him that the way he's behaving isn't — well, it is the sort of thing he'd do, just in a wildly different set of circumstances. The sort where there weren't more pressing questions of security and safety to demand his attention. The sort where he wasn't alone, bereft of the comrades he'd entrust his life to on a moment's notice.
It should occur to him that prioritizing pleasure over just about every other possible concern in the book isn't like him. And yet here he is, with the taste of Sharlayan memories on his tongue and a blue void Elezen's hair tendrils tying lovers' knots around his wrist.]
And yet I'm not altogether tempted to let you go far enough to reach it.
You prefer me over it? High praise- but I don't really expect anything less.
[be a little more smug, why don't you, ryn.
there's nothing out of the ordinary for him, though; he's well-practiced in escapism, in duality. in leaning into this sort of thing to avoid dealing with the rest, taking what he's able to wherever he can get it, and indulging his pride and vanity while he's at it. rynlan might well do this without the drink's encouragement.
he doesn't move to lean away so he can reach for the glass, seemingly just as content here.]
[And there's really no academic purpose to excuse the second kiss that follows after the first, but probably they can think of one later if they really try. Maybe.
As his hand shifts minutely again from head and tendril-hair to settle at the back of Ryn's neck, his fingers happen across that thin gold chain from earlier, and after a moment's hesitation he rolls it against the pads of his fingertips, seemingly in idle thought.]
I wonder who gave this to you. Someone lucky, to be sure.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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but what's unexpected, maybe, is the fact that even offering the cue, even inviting Ryn's examination — none of that keeps him from shivering, just a little, when the gloved fingertips make contact with his proffered skin.]
I've mastered my art. Practical knowledge is valued just as much as theoretical, in Sharlayan.
[But. They're trading glasses, and that's a better place to put his focus for the moment, so he does.]
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What kind of practical art was it, then? Can't just say that without bragging a little more.
[spill, come on.
meanwhile he takes a sip from thancred's drink, with a thoughtful hum.]
-wait, this tastes exactly the same.
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[He frowns, though, and tests Ryn's drink himself.]
...As is this. So either we've a startling coincidence on our hands, or...
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[very interesting, though, that it's the same no matter what... he likes this drink more and more.
but of course, he has to ask-]
What condition?
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[He takes another drink — still out of Ryn's traded glass, conspicuously — and doesn't notice how it makes him just a little more stupid, a little more desirous to show off for this singular audience of one in particular.]
May I?
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I've let you before, haven't I? Don't know why you're so doubtful.
Go ahead.
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[But he gulps another mouthful of the Number Nine, then sets it back on the counter, and gets up from his seat, staying fully within Ryn's line of sight as he starts to walk a meandering path around the interior of the room nearest the bar.
As he weaves his way back, he makes a brief detour to put one of the pillars between himself and Ryn, obscured for not more than a second or two at the pace he's walking —
Except that he doesn't come back out again. Or doesn't seem to, at least.
Not until two fingers and a thumb catch light hold of one of the tendrils dangling close to the nape of Ryn's neck and smoothly drag all the way down to the tip.]
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which has his attention thoroughly elsewhere when thancred touches that tendril.
it speaks to his old training that, instead of startling and falling off his seat, he just gasps and reflexively straightens, ears perked straight up before they slowly begin to settle.]
How by the Void did you-?!
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[Comes the voice from right near Ryn's ear, though from enough of a distance that even the wash of his breath doesn't touch him.]
And marks like these aren't won easily, as you've now seen for yourself.
[...Heh.]
Or mayhap, as you've now not seen for yourself.
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[but he sounds genuinely amused, turning to face him once more; the tendril thancred's caught doesn't wiggle away, curling idly around his fingers.]
Stealth then? I'll be honest, that's not what I was expecting from you.
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[He smiles, not moving any further away even when Ryn turns toward him, comfortably invading his space while maintaining his scrupulously — one might almost, at this point, consider it playfully — enforced distance.]
Because I seem like the type?
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[he hums, considering, as he takes another long sip of his drink, and subtly leans in a little more.]
More straightforward, definitely.
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[Hmmm. His gaze drags down just a fraction, then flicks to Ryn's glass (his former glass? do either of them even remember at this point), then finally back to his eyes as the corner of his mouth curls up into a more mischievous smile.]
I've thought of a means of resolving our startling coincidence. Give me your glass.
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You do? Let's see it, then.
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And thus Thancred proceeds to take the glass, knock back a nice healthy mouthful, and abandon it haphazardly on the counter (hopefully) as the hand in Ryn's hair shifts to press against the back of his head.
And guide it forward.
And, like shotgunning a mouthful of smoke, presses half the same mouthful of Number Nine past Ryn's lips with a deft sweep of his tongue and a firm seal of a kiss to match.]
no subject
and anyway, he's more focused on thancred's little plan, leaning easily into that kiss; he'd had a slight suspicion, but being proven right like this is always nice, he thinks. it's an enjoyable way to experiment, and he definitely proves not to be shy about it, tasting the liquor from him with a satisfied little hum.
he leans back enough to pull away, but not so far that his hair tendrils unwind from thancred's wrist.]
...still tastes the same to me. We're going to have to test the other glass.
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[Rationally, it should occur to him that the way he's behaving isn't — well, it is the sort of thing he'd do, just in a wildly different set of circumstances. The sort where there weren't more pressing questions of security and safety to demand his attention. The sort where he wasn't alone, bereft of the comrades he'd entrust his life to on a moment's notice.
It should occur to him that prioritizing pleasure over just about every other possible concern in the book isn't like him. And yet here he is, with the taste of Sharlayan memories on his tongue and a blue void Elezen's hair tendrils tying lovers' knots around his wrist.]
And yet I'm not altogether tempted to let you go far enough to reach it.
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[be a little more smug, why don't you, ryn.
there's nothing out of the ordinary for him, though; he's well-practiced in escapism, in duality. in leaning into this sort of thing to avoid dealing with the rest, taking what he's able to wherever he can get it, and indulging his pride and vanity while he's at it. rynlan might well do this without the drink's encouragement.
he doesn't move to lean away so he can reach for the glass, seemingly just as content here.]
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[And there's really no academic purpose to excuse the second kiss that follows after the first, but probably they can think of one later if they really try. Maybe.
As his hand shifts minutely again from head and tendril-hair to settle at the back of Ryn's neck, his fingers happen across that thin gold chain from earlier, and after a moment's hesitation he rolls it against the pads of his fingertips, seemingly in idle thought.]
I wonder who gave this to you. Someone lucky, to be sure.